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Pete was filled with excitement. It was camping weekend! He was going to spend the whoooole weekend camping with just Dad and Rhonda! He loved camping with his dad. The seven-year-old jumped up out of bed and... Woah.
He stood in place for a minute. He felt... weird. Something was off. Like—Like the room was not being steady like it was supposed to. And his body felt... well, something was going on. Maybe he was just hungry. He needed to eat before he went off camping with Dad. He already excitedly packed everything the night before.
After a second, Pete hurried down stairs to the kitchen. "Ma! It's breakfast time!"
Ma was already in the kitchen. She was pretty much always up before he was. "Hey! No need to be so loud in the morning!"
"I'm gonna go camping, Ma!"
"I know!" Ma stared into the fridge. "Hm. Do you want to eat some cereal for breakfast?"
Pete nodded, although it didn't feel good to do so. "Can I have apple juice, too?"
"'Course you can. Do you want to pour it all by yourself?"
"Yes, please!" Pete was a big boy. He could pour drinks all on his own. And he could pour his own cereal. But no milk in the cereal. Because it was hard to get the right ratio so he didn't have any milk left in the bowl once the cereal was gone. And he could eat it with his fingers! "When's Dad getting here?"
"When he gets here! Don't eat with your mouth open!"
"Mm!" Pete ate his breakfast handful by handful. But not too big of handfuls. If he ate too fast, he'd get sick. And the last thing he wanted was to get sick! Dad wouldn't take him camping if he was sick!
About three quarters of the way through breakfast, Dad steps in through the kitchen door. "Excuse me, little man, but do you happen to know what time it is?"
Pete jumped out of his chair and ran right at his dad. Dad caught him, like he always did, and spun him around. Did he spin faster than usual? He felt a bit more dizzy than usual. But he didn't show it. The child just laughed. "Dad, breakfast time isn't over yet!"
"Well, then, what are you doing up in the air like that? You should be eating!"
Pete laughed as Dad put him down. He hurried back to his seat to finish breakfast. As the child ate, the two adults began to talk. "There's a bit of stomach flu making the rounds at the school. I'd keep an eye out."
"I dealt with my brothers when they were sick." Indeed. John Dory's brothers had a range of reactions to being sick. Ranging from crying dramatics at a simple little cold, to trying to push through whatever they wanted to do for the day even with a hundred degree fever. He himself tended to fall on the later end of that spectrum. He just hoped his kid didn't take after him in that regard. Didn't want to be out on the trails with a kid suddenly puking his guts out.
After breakfast, Pete grabbed his pre-packed bag from his room. His dad went through the list of things he needed. "You got your extra outfits?"
"Mmhm!"
"Extra change of underwear?"
"Yeppee!"
"Whatever toys you wanted to bring?"
"Yep! Yep!"
"The blanket you like?"
"Yes! I got everything!" Pete bounced with excitement. "I'm ready! I'm ready to go!"
John Dory laughed. "Alright! Then let's go!"
Pete waved to his mother as they left. "Bye, Mama! See you later!"
"You two have fun!"
Yes, absolutely fun. Rhonda happily cooed and chirred at him, like she always did. But then she sniffed him and made an inquisitive noise. "I ate all my breakfast already," he said, thinking she somehow smelled the apple juice and cereal. "There's no snackies for you!"
"You shouldn't be feeding her your food, anyway." John Dory rustled his son's hair. Although, Rhonda's concerned sniffing possibly meant something was up. Possibly. But Pete wasn't acting at all out of the ordinary. He was probably fine, right? God he hoped so.
The father-son duo climbed into the armadillo bus and headed off to the trails. Pete loved riding in Rhonda. It was so different from riding in other critter vehicles. Clemmie, the old critter that Ma and Pa used for various errands, was always more of a bumpy ride. But Rhonda rode smooth. Smooth enough, that he got to be out of his seat for the ride! And it's so cool. But...
But Pete felt kinda dizzy when he stood up. Yes, there was a sort of sway to the room, because the ride in critters couldn't be one hundred percent smooth. But he'd always been fine with it before! Something was just off with him today. But he didn't want anything to be off! He was going camping!
Pete pulled out his activity book and sat down on one of the couches. John Dory stayed aware of what his son was doing. "What are you up to, Pete?"
"I'm doing a word search!"
Pete didn't usually pull out the activity book so soon. "You doing alright back there?"
"Uh-huh! I'm fine!"
John Dory had a bad feeling about this. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on. But Pete was so determined and excited to go on this camping trip. There was always the chance that everything really was fine. He could just have been worrying too much. Just to be safe, he picked out an easy camping spot. Still in the woods, but the way back to the farm would be easy enough to travel, even in the dark. If something went wrong, he wanted to get Pete back home as soon as possible.
The moment they stepped out of Rhonda, Pete tugged on his dad's arm. "Dad! There's a creek!"
John Dory looked to where his son excitedly pointed. "Well, would you look at that!"
"Can we swim? Please?"
The older troll laughed. "Let's set up our campsite a bit first, okay? You want to do campfire cooking tonight, right?"
"Mm..." Pete didn't actually want to move around much at all. But he loved swimming, so he could bare with it for the sake of swimming. "I wanna swim."
"We just have to gather some sticks and set up seats for tonight. It'll be easy."
"...Okay." Of course, he had to help set up the camp. That was a part of camping. And Pete usually liked gathering sticks! Some of them looked like swords or wands! And then he could fight pretend monsters. But... but Pete didn't feel like running around like that. He didn't exactly... feel the best. But he wasn't sick! If he was sick then they'd have to go home. And Pete wanted to do camping.
Setting up camp didn't take too long. It was just gathering sticks and rocks, clearing a good spot for the campfire, and Dad pulled the chairs out to set up. It barely took long at all for them to get things set up. Then Pete got to go play in the creek, his father either in the creek with him, or standing to the side keeping an eye on him. The creek wasn't even deep enough for some proper swimming. At the deepest points, it was only up to his knees.
Pete was enjoying himself in the water. He kicked the water around and looked at the different rocks in the water. Dad said he found Quillion the Moonstone in a creek. If he was really lucky, maybe Pete would find a cool rock, too! "Be careful, Bud!"
"I am!" Pete poked at one rock with a stick. He felt... weird again. Off. The feeling in his tummy, just like the one he had this morning. He had to be hungry again. "Dad! What are we doing for lunch? I'm hungry!"
"Hungry already, huh?" John Dory thought about the food he'd packed back in Rhonda. "Do you wanna try getting the campfire going now? We can roast some hotdogs!"
"Okay!" Pete made one more big kick in the water, then threw the stick as far down the creek as he could. Dad wouldn't go get the fire started until he got out of the creek. He had to keep an eye on him. If Pete somehow fell in, or somehow got swept away, Dad would have to jump in and help him. Once he stepped back onto dry land, he shook himself off.
Oh no. Oh, that made him feel worse. Pete whined and took a wide stance until he felt like he had his sense of balance back. His dad, of course, immediately took notice of this. "Pete? Are you okay?"
"I want hotdogs."
"Pete..." He wasn't stupid. He knew what a child pretending not to be sick looked like. And right now, it looked like his kid. He crouched down so he was closer to his son's eye level. "Pete, it's okay if you don't feel well. You won't be in trouble for being sick."
"No! We're camping!" Pete scurried off to the campsite. He wasn't sick! He was just hungry! They needed to start cooking the hotdogs! And then he could have s'mores! Pete LOVED s'mores! S'mores would make him feel all better!
"Pete!" John Dory sighed and got up to follow the kid. Guess his son took after him after all, in that regard. The best thing he could do at the moment was make sure Pete didn't push himself too far. "Wait! Let me start the fire, okay?"
John Dory pushed his camp chair right next to Pete's. Sitting closer would let him support Pete better if he didn't feel well. He got the sticks and logs all set up in the best way for starting the fire. As he got everything ready, Pete sat in his chair. He was quiet, which made his father all the more sure that he was unwell.
Pete didn't want to be sick! It was the weekend! If he was going to get sick, it should be when it could keep him from going to school. Not the weekend. Especially not camping weekend. He wanted to be camping. But... But he didn't feel very good. And it was ruining camping! He sniffed and whined.
John Dory turned around when he heard his son sniff like that. Sure enough, Pete was teary-eyed. "Hey, Petey Pie, what's wrong?"
"I wanna be camping. " He insisted. "We're camping! "
If John Dory was ever that stubborn when he got sick, he'd liked to apologize to his poor brothers and grandmother who had to deal with him. "Alright. We're camping, but if you don't feel good—"
"I'm fine! I'm hungry!"
"Alright! Alright. I'm getting the fire started. We could even go right to the s'mores if you want."
"Hotdogs are supposed to come first!"
"Then we'll have hotdogs first. I'll go get the stuff once I get—"
"I'll get the stuff." Pete stood up from his seat, despite how unwell he felt. If he ate something, he'd feel so much better. He had to feel better! Because if he didn't, then it'd meant he was actually sick. And Pete didn't want to be sick! He wanted to be camping ! Pete hurried into Rhonda before Dad could tell him to wait. He knew exactly where the hotdogs and buns were. He could do a simple task like this.
They roasted the hotdogs using sticks John Dory had ready. All the while, he kept a close eye on Pete. The kid was so determined to keep pushing through. John Dory didn't want to try pushing back. He'd just get an outburst that didn't help with anything. The best thing he thought he could do was just make sure he was there to catch Pete when he couldn't push through anymore.
Pete, for his part, chowed down on his hotdog. He immediately got to cooking the second when, while still in the middle of eating the first one. His stomach only felt like that because he was hungry. Once he ate food, then they could go right into the fun camping stuff. He could even play in the creek again! The creek was fun. He liked the creek. He...
The kid was halfway through his second hotdog when he realized he very much did not feel better. Actually, he felt a bit worse. Like everything he just ate was about to come back out. Pete swallowed and put the rest of his hotdog down. "Dad."
"Yes, son?"
"I... I don't feel good. But I wanna keep camping."
"Yeah?" John Dory reached over and rubbed his son's back. "Is that why you're pretending you don't feel sick? So we can keep camping?"
"Mmm..." Pete pressed his lips together. He blinked as tears came to his eyes. He was ruining camping. He didn't want to—he really, really didn't—but Pete turned to the side and threw up. Then he began to cry and sob. "Dad. I frew up."
"Oh, buddy." He ran his fingers through his son's hair, gently pulling it away from his face. "Let's get you into Rhonda, okay? Get you all cozy on the couch so you can start feeling better."
Pete whined. "I wanna do camping."
"I know. I know. Let's get you feeling better, though, okay?"
"But the campfire..."
"Let your dad take care of all of that, alright? Don't worry about anything but feeling better." John Dory picked Pete up and carried him into Rhonda. He'd put out and clean up the campfire once his poor baby was tucked in with a puke bucket within reach. He gently set Pete down on the couch in Rhonda. The bigger, comfier one. He made sure the kid was lying on his side. That way, if he threw up, there wouldn't be a chance of him choking on his own vomit.
"Do you wanna get in your pjs? Get all comfy?"
"Mm-mm." Pete sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "Too early for pjs."
"Alright. Then you rest up." John Dory pulled out Pete's favorite blanket and the stuffed animal he'd packed for the camping trip. He tucked the seven-year-old in and dug around for a bucket or large bowl for him to throw up in. "You throw up in this if you need to okay?" He kissed Pete on the forehead. He was definitely feverish. "I'm gonna go clean up the campfire now, okay?"
"We didn't make the s'mores..."
"We'll have all of the s'mores you can eat once you get better, okay?"
"Okay." After his father stepped out of the armadillo bus, Pete curled up around his stuffie and began to cry again. He ruined camping. It wasn't every weekend he got to go camping alone with his dad like this. And now it was ruined. Why'd he have to go and get sick on the weekend? He just wanted to have fun with his dad!
He lied there crying until his father came back. "Hey. Hey, bud." he brushed his thumb to wipe away some of the tears. "Does it hurt? Where does it hurt?"
Pete didn't answer. His tummy hurt, yes, but that wasn't why he was crying."'M sorry..."
"You don't need to be sorry. It's not your fault you don't feel good."
"I ruined camping..."
"You really wanted to go camping, huh?"
"Mm-hm." Pete squeezed his eyes shut. "Can— Can we keep camping?" He'd probably feel better tomorrow. No point in them going all the way home when he'd be back to normal the next day. The trip could still be saved.
"Pete, listen, okay? The most important thing to me right now is to make sure you feel better. Camping isn't so fun when you don't feel well, right?" Dad gently stroked his hair. "We might have to go home and get you some medicine."
"Noooo!!!" Pete wailed. "Nooooooooo." He threw up in the puke bucket and cried. The weekend was ruined. Completely ruined. "I— I wanted to— to camping!"
"I know! I know!" John Dory stroked Pete's hair, trying very hard to comfort his poor baby. He'd need to drink something with all of the crying and the puking. Maybe he had some lemon lime fizz somewhere. "Remember to breath."
"I— I—" Pete took hiccuping breaths, as will happen when someone cried too hard for too long. His dad helped him sit up.
"Okay. A bit of a change of plans. Let's have you sit up, nice and cozy with some pillows. And... How about you pretend you finger's a birthday candle, okay? And take big breaths and try to blow it out."
Pete held up his finger and stared at it. "It— it's not a— a candle."
"I know. Just pretend. It'll help you breath, okay?" John Dory moved some pillows and and cushions to keep his son sitting up comfortably. "Let me see you do it. Blow out the candle, okay?"
Pete did as he was told. He took in a breath and blew. Then he did it again. "Good job, Pete. Keep doing that. I'm gonna wash out your puke here, and then I'm gonna get you something to drink, okay?"
"Don— don make the— the— creek dirty!"
"I won't!" John Dory grabbed a spare squirt bottle. It was the closest thing he'd get to hosing the thing down. "I'm gonna rinse it out in the bushes. And then we're gonna get you something to drink, okay? That'll help you feel better."
"Okay..." Pete took another breath and blew on his finger. "Can I have my... my activity book?"
"'Course, kiddo." John Dory picked the activity book from where it was on the other couch (he still wasn't sure how or why Rhonda got two couches) and brought it and his pencil over. "Alright. Are you all set, or am I gonna have to put off cleaning that bowl?"
"It's... it's smelly."
The older troll laughed. "Alright. I'm gonna clean it out. And then we'll have it ready for if you puke again." He rustled Pete's hair and went out to clean out the bowl/bucket. He was careful about where he cleaned it out. He didn't want to directly contaminate the creek water, but it probably wasn't possible to completely avoid it. He just hoped other campers and hikers remembered they had to boil and/or purify water before drinking it.
Speaking of drinking, John Dory went back in Rhonda and pulled can of lemon lime fizz out of the fridge for Pete. "Do you want me to look for a straw for you? I think I have one of my reusable ones somewhere."
"Mmhm..." Pete sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "My head hurts."
"I know." The crying and the throwing up left him dehydrated. And maybe his head was hurting already because he was sick. John Dory dug out a straw and put it in the opened can. "Here. You'll start to feel better once you start drinking. But not too fast, okay?"
"Mmkay." Pete began to sip on the soda. "If it makes me feel better, can we keep camping?"
John Dory sighs. "You really want to keep camping, huh?"
"Can we? Please?" Pete looks at him with these big sad eyes. And oh, it hit something in John Dory. The fact that Pete tried pushing through it to keep doing something he really wanted to do, and that he was still asking to do it after he threw up twice, was exactly like something Clay would do. But the crying and the tearful sad eyes were entirely a Floyd thing. There was a reason he was the Sensitive One.
Now, if he had to tell Pete no, he could start crying again. And crying had clearly already left him with a headache and a little bit dehydrated. But John Dory couldn't promise that they could keep camping. He couldn't just have his sons out in the woods when he was sick. A sick kid needed at least an actual toilet, right? (Plus Angie would probably kill him if he ever actually tried to be so irresponsible with their son.) "Listen, how... how a bout a compromise?"
"Compromise?" Pete knew what that word meant. "Meet in the middle?"
"Yeah. How about..." John Dory trailed off, trying to think of something that would satisfy Pete. "We head back to the farm, buuut we can still camp out in Rhonda? Would that be okay?"
Pete took another small sip of his lemon lime fizz. "Does Mama have to show up? It's supposed to be Dad time."
Oh! His heart! It wasn't the camping that Pete was upset about! It was the one-on-one time with his dad! And, if John Dory really thought about it, that wasn't as often as he got to have with his pa or his ma. Maybe he should start trying to visit more often. "Your ma's gonna want to know what's going on, and that you're okay. We'll see what she says from there, okay?"
"...okay." Pete's eyes were almost teary again. But he wasn't about to cry yet again. He'd cried so much, there couldn't be much tears left to cry. John Dory would have to get him some water or some fruit just to make sure he was rehydrated. "I cried too much. My eyes hurt."
"I know you did. Hang on. I think I can get something for that." He rustled Pete's hair and went to wet a washcloth for him to wipe his face. It should make him feel cleaner and less gross. Four younger brothers and these last few years with his son taught him a trick or two on handling a child who just cried his eyes out.
Pete got a wet washcloth, a tissue or two to blow his nose, and from fruit to SLOWLY eat to hydrate and try to at least get some calories in his system. And then it all wrapped up with his head in his dad's lap, John Dory stroking his hair and singing some old lullaby.
"If you'll be my start
I'll be your sky
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
When I turn jet black
And you show off your light
I live to let you shine."
Pete eventually drifted off to sleep. John Dory stayed there for another few minutes, just to be sure he didn't accidentally wake the kid up. Carefully, he got up, made sure Pete was lying on his side, and made his way to the driver's seat. "Alright, Rhonda," he whispers. "Let's get going. Nice and easy, okay?" And then they started on the way back to the farm.
Pete slept through the whole trip back home. And he didn't throw up the whole way. Surprising, because someone would think that the sensation of moving and subtle shake of a critter in motion make him more likely to throw up. But not Pete. Pete slept through the whole ride. When he did wake up, he could hear both Dad and Ma speaking in whispering in quiet tones.
He whined. This was supposed to be camping time with just his dad. He got to see Ma all of the time! But now she was here anyway. Also, he felt like he was about to throw up again. And he didn't want to throw up again. He didn't even remember where the bucket was! "Daaaaaaad," he whined.
"I'm here." He felt his father's hand on his head. "How are you feelin', bud?"
"Mmmmmm." All he did was whine in response. He didn't feel good. He didn't feel good at all.
"Do you need the bowl?"
"Mm." He did. Oh, he did. Thankfully, Dad could read him well enough to understand that. It took minimal effect to guide his head over the bucket before he threw up. Pete didn't like being sick. He didn't like throwing up, either. At least when he was sick, he'd get to eat some of his favorite treats to cheer him up. But throwing those up back would be a wast to those treats, and then he'd be sad.
But they didn't get to make the s'mores, so Pete didn't end up throwing those up. Maybe that was good? But he didn't get to have the s'mores, so that was sad! Being sick was terrible! Well, except when it got him out of a boring day of school. Being sick on the weekend was terrible!
His dad rubbed his back. "Hey, Pete. I've got a thermometer here. Let's take your temperature so we can see just how feverish you are. Okay?"
"I frew up..."
"I know. We can get you some water first? Or some apple juice?"
"...Juice, please?" Maybe Pete could lie to himself and say that the juice was coming from the fridge in Rhonda. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend that his mother wasn't there. Maybe he could pretend he was still camping with his dad out in the woods. He could pretend, and he'd feel better about being sick.
But that little daydream wasn't real. He heard his mother's voice. "Alright, I'll rinse out the puke for you, and grab the juice on my way."
"I could rinse it out."
"Nah, you'll be rinsing out the rest of them. I can do this one."
Pete didn't open his eyes until he heard Rhonda's door open and close again. He blinked his slightly tearful eyes open and looked up at his dad. "Do I have to go back in the house?"
"No, bud. Not if you really don't want to." Dad pet his head. "Or if you want to use the bathroom in the house. The one in the garage is pretty small."
"I can stay in Rhonda?"
"Yeah. You really wanted to spend the weekend camping in Rhonda, right?"
Yes he did. He really did. And so, Pete got to stay there on the couch for the rest of the weekend. When he needed to, he slipped out of Rhonda on his own. To be honest, the actual toilet was better than a bush or a hole in the dirt. And his dad did his best to keep him entertained while he was stuck to the couch in Rhonda. Pete would read a book out loud, and Dad would quickly throw together improvised puppets and prompts to act out whatever Pete was reading.
Pete threw up a few more times that day. Either he ate or drank to fast for his sick stomach, or the one time he laughed hard enough for his stomach to hurt. It was alright, though. Slowly sipping on the lemon lime sodapop helped his tummy feel better. And Dad made sure he had enough on hand. By the next day, Pete felt waaaaaaaay better!
"Can we go back to the woods now?"
"Stop taking the thermometer out of your mouth and we'll see!" Dad was trying to check if he still had a fever. if he still did, then they probably weren't going anywhere. "And if we do go put in the woods, we won't be able to stay the night. You have school tomorrow."
Pete whined, but still kept the thermometer where it was in his mouth. The moment it left his mouth for Dad to check it, he asked, "What about s'mores? Can we make s'mores at least?"
"Heck yeah we can still make s'mores! You deserve 'em!" He hummed thoughtfully as he looked at the thermometer. "Hm. Your a bit feverish still. Buuuuuuut I think you could enjoy some time playing outside this afternoon."
"FUCK YEAH!"
" Language, buddy!"