Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We Are Family

Written for The Great Everlasting Prompt Compendium
Prompt 18: Write a sickfic. No colds or flus permitted, you have to think beyond that.

Disclaimer: all characters, names and locations belong to Disney. I own nothing that you recognize.

The sun had risen high above the tree tops, filtering through the gap in the curtains. Beside the oversized bed, the curtains gently fluttered in the warm Hawaiian breeze, bringing with it the scent of the local flora.

Despite the late hour of the day, Jumba remained fast asleep in bed, one thick arm covering his eyes to block out the light. His bed, much like the makeshift laboratory he created in his room, was in various stages of disarray. One of the blankets slipped over the edge of the mattress, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The bed itself had partially collapsed under Jumba's immense weight, the padded layers crushed, a few springs poking out at odd angles. Not that Jumba seemed to mind. A little clutter keeps a place looking lived in.

The desk was buried under stacks of papers, books and research notes, a collection of test tubes and beakers, and a few pieces of alien technology. There was also an old computer that displayed complex mathematics and spreadsheets, all of it written in some sort of bizarre alien language that looked suspiciously like an intergalactic version of Russian.

In less than a month Jumba had managed to turn his shared living space into a disaster area. The scattered papers, notebooks and dirty laundry that had started piling up in the corners created the perfect hiding spot for a certain blue alien, his furry form burrowing into the nest of stained fabric and crumpled paper.

Admittedly, Jumba found this behavior rather amusing. He would venture into the room he shared with Pleakley, only to watch the little critter turning in circles before bedding down like a dog. Today, however, Jumba wasn't in the best of moods, a nagging stomachache and lingering sense of malaise combining to produce one very irritable alien.

"Come on, Jumba," Pleakley called out, entering their bedroom and flinging the curtains wide open. "Up and at 'em, sleepyhead. It's almost noon."

The scientist grumbled in response, blinking at the bright light that poured into their room. One of his massive limbs slid off the mattress, sitting up slowly and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He could hear the sound of Lilo's laughter floating down the hall, followed by the sporadic bursts of alien chatter from his creation. Just another source of background noise. Insignificant, not worth his time.

"Jumba," Pleakley said, moving closer to the bed. He stopped beside the pile of flattened mattresses, examining Jumba's pale complexion. "You've been looking a little off lately. Maybe it's time to get outside, enjoy some of this fresh air and sunshine." He gestured towards the window, the swaying palms dipping their branches in the warm breeze.

Grumbling and muttering in his native language, Jumba waved off his concern. "Is not so bad. Am still adjusting to new environment. It is much warmer than home planet," he said, lifting a hand and wiping the perspiration from his brow.

Never one to be discouraged by his companion's less than positive demeanor, Pleakley placed his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a parent gently scolding their child. "It's more than that, Jumba. You're not the spry young evil genius you used to be. You can't keep living like you did back home. For the sake of your health, and our living arrangement with the humans, we need to keep this place clean."

"Excusing me for attempt at replicate home on Quelte Quan," Jumba muttered, finally pushing himself to his feet and standing in the cluttered mess that filled their room. "Old habits, you know. I am... how you say, used to former lifestyle of scientific experiments, working late nights and not having anyone to do cleaning." He then picked up one of the dirty socks that had settled on the floor next to his bed. "You is realizing that this belonging to you, correct? Jumba is not having oversized booties for feets."

Pleakley rolled his eye. "Be that as it may, we still need to keep this place clean and tidy. Your health might improve if you weren't living in a nuclear dumpster like you did in the laboratory." He reached out and ran one of his slender fingers along the top of the bookshelf. "Look at this. There's dust and filth everywhere."

His eyes narrowed, and despite his persistent fatigue, Jumba swatted at Pleakley's hand. "Keeping hands to yourself," he snapped, his words coming out harsher than he'd intended. "I did not ask to be here with these Earth creatures."

"Now Jumba, I understand that this is a big change," Pleakley calmly stated, trying his best to sympathize with his companion. "You probably aren't as thrilled to be here as I am. All the more reason why you need someone to help you adjust to life on Earth. Say perhaps someone who just so happens to be an expert on this watery sphere."

The scientist grudgingly agreed, knowing deep down that his companion was right. "Da, I know. But where to start?"

Pleakley, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together. "First things first, we need to clean up this mess!" He immediately started gathering up the empty bottles and dirty dishes scattered around the room. "Stitch, can you help me with this?"

The furry alien popped out of a pile of laundry on the floor, wearing an empty bag of chips like a hat. He shook off the crumbs, climbing out of the pile and up the wall, his claws clicking against the wooden surface. Tilting his head at an angle, he surveyed the scene below, hesitating slightly before joining Pleakley in his mission to clean the room.

While they worked on tidying up, Jumba slumped into a chair beside his desk. He was overcome by a sudden way of dizziness, the room spinning and turning on its side. Gripping the armrests, the scientist felt his heart pounding against his ribs, his energy levels plummeting the moment he tried walking across the floor. A groan dribbled past his lips, his pudgy fingers sinking into the plush material to keep from sliding onto the floor.

Pleakley, noticing his companion's discomfort, stopped for a moment. "Jumba, why don't you lie down?" he said, never taking his eye off Jumba's rotund figure. The scientist sank further down in his seat, one hand holding his stomach. "You don't look so good."

His eyes partially closed, Jumba felt the floor tilt under his feet. "Maybe... maybe blood sugar is low," he said, his voice low and groggy. "Not used to these Earth foods yet." Taking a deep breath, he managed to steady himself, rising slowly from his seat and returning to the bed. With a weary groan, he all but collapsed against the mattress.

"Either that or something you ate disagreed with your system," said Pleakley, depositing a pile of empty water bottles and wrappers into the trash bin.

It wasn't long until exhaustion caught up with him, his eyes closing as Pleakley and Stitch continued to work. In a foggy state of half-sleep, Jumba could hear the hum of the vacuum and the occasional clink of empty cans and bottles rustling against a trash bag. After several years of isolation in the depths of space, the sound provided a soothing background noise as he lingered on the edge of sleep.

.oOo.

Waking up was a slow process, nearly two hours later. Though he didn't have an explanation for it, Jumba had started feeling ill not long after they arrived on Earth. He'd spent much of his time doing research and analyzing things in the environment, such as air, water and soil samples, in hopes of figuring out what the problem was. His brilliant mind was naturally drawn towards science and research anyway. But when the tests failed to produce an answer, Jumba was left wondering what was making him feel so rotten.

By the time he woke up from his nap, Pleakly and Stitch had the room much cleaner than it was when he had gone to sleep. They even managed to coax some laughter and smiles out of each other, which helped to lighten the mood.

As Jumba opened his eyes and slowly sat up in bed, he noticed that the windows were open to let in the fresh breeze. The scent of blooming flowers had replaced the stale scent of leftovers and chemicals, making everything feel lighter, better somehow. He also noticed that his companion had changed into a frilly maid outfit.

"Ah, Jumba, you're awake!" Pleakley called out. He set aside his cleaning supplies, bagging the last of the trash before moving towards the bed, the ruffles on his dress swishing with every step. "We've made some decent progress, and I found a book with all these healthy Earth recipes we could use to improve your diet." He whipped out the book he found, opening the pages to a colorful fruit salad recipe. "What do you think? Looks yummy right?"

Jumba briefly studied the image on the page before shifting towards Pleakley's clothing. "Where is you getting that?" he asked, his fingers closing around the layers of fabric and lace. "I thought bigger girl was saying no more clothes shopping with credit card."

"This," Pleakly stated, brushing Jumba's hand away from the rows of lace, "is considered typical Earth cleaning attire. If one is going to adapt to life in a new world, then one must also be dressed appropriately for each daily task."

"One is giving me a headache," Jumba groaned, massaging his temples.

But Pleakley wasn't listening. He was already on his way downstairs to start preparing a healthy meal for his newfound family.

Sighing heavily, Jumba moved towards the side of the mattress, his feet making contact with the hardwood floor. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, a low groan slid past his lips. It was incredibly frustrating, knowing that his genius was going to waste in a place like this. Even if he could conduct his usual experiments, these pitiful Earth creatures wouldn't understand. They wouldn't appreciate his superior intellect. Pleakley wasn't much better. He was smart enough, but his only interest was studying the latest fashion trends.

"What kind of punishment is this?" Jumba grumbled, slowly lowering his hands and gazing about at his surroundings. The collection of books and scientific equipment on the desk was a far cry from what he was used to. It was a pathetic excuse for the former glory of his old lab. But it was all he had left, some of the materials brought from home, others improvised along the way.

The more he thought about his current situation, the more frustrated he became. Much like his creation, Jumba had been exiled to Earth to spend the rest of his days with the Pelekai family. They had to know how much this would torment him, being unable to return to his lab and continue his scientific pursuits. At the same time, they must have also realized that his creation couldn't be left alone without someone who understood his nature and biology. Jumba was to live with Stitch, guiding and monitoring his creation, while also learning proper law-abiding behavior. Or so they hoped.

He remembered the day he was arrested and brought before the Grand Council Woman, shortly after his failed attempt to capture his creation. He closed his eyes, the scene replaying in his mind.

"Think of it as a long term sentence with the possibility of parole if you behave," stated the Grand Council Woman. Her tone left no room for argument. It was either this or get sent back to the prison asteroid where he had originally been sentenced.

At first, Jumba had been outraged, refusing to be cooperate with the rules set in place. "What is you taking me for?" he roared, struggling against his restraints. "Some kind of lunatic?!"

He clenched his fists within their metal confinements, his hulking form quivering with barely suppressed rage. He was well aware of the galactic law enforcement present on the beach, their plasma guns aimed at his chest, but he was too far gone to care. He was an evil genius, the most accomplished scientist in the galaxy. They couldn't treat him like this.

Though it went against his best judgement, Pleakley swallowed the lump in his throat and chanced taking a step forward. "Jumba, please," he whispered in his ear, trying desperately to calm the raging scientist. His slender appendages wrapped around Jumba's massive frame, grasping his shoulders as he leaned in close. "You're lucky they haven't suggested commiting you to a mental hospital. And with that type of behavior, they very well could if you don't learn to control yourself."

Jumba turned on him in the span of a single heartbeat, shifting his massive bulk and driving his elbow into Pleakley's side. Releasing him with a frightened squeak, the one-eyed alien tumbled to the ground, cowering beneath the mad scientist. Closing his eye, Pleakley covered his face with a trembling arm, awaiting the blow that never came.

"Why do you care?" Jumba snarled, furious at the thought of being institutionalized. "You is not even knowing me before this!" His eyes narrowed, his chest heaving with each shuddering breath, struggling to maintain his composure as he glared at the trembling alien on the ground. If he wanted to, he could have easily squished him like the pathetic insect that he was. It was tempting, very tempting. So what was holding him back? 

All eyes were on them now, both human and alien alike. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the waves, the palm leaves a distant rustle in the background.

Lowering his hands, Pleakley propped himself up with his elbows in the sand, gazing directly at the enraged scientist. "Not personally, no," Pleakley admitted. "Though many have heard of your genius. And while I can't even begin to comprehend what's going on in your head, I know you aren't foolish enough to throw everything away like this."

Silence followed his words. Jumba took a step back, taking a moment to process what had been said.

"You have the opportunity for something greater, something better than this," Pleakley continued, still laying on his back in the sand. A pause, and then he quietly added, "I still believe in you."

Though his heart was pounding fiercely against his ribcage, Jumba managed a deep breath, slowly turning to face the Grand Council Woman. He could still get out of this, he just had to think, lie low for a while.

His shoulders sinking, Jumba reluctantly allowed them to place the tracking device around his ankle, the metal clasp clicking as it locked in place. It had been almost a month now, the device still held in place as he sat on the edge of his mattress, thinking about the choices he had made that lead to this.

He lowered his hand, reaching down and feeling the cold, alien metal beneath his calloused fingers. What was this thing they called ohana? Is that what Pleakley was talking about when he said he still believed in him? It was frustrating, not being able to comprehend such behavior, such weakness. His fingers tightened around the ankle monitor, the lights steadily shining red and blue. They didn't care about him. And even if they did, it would only lead to them making some very foolish decisions. He was sure of it.

Chapter Text

After a while, Jumba pushed himself off the mattress, grunting with exertion as the bedsprings squealed in protest. If these humans and their precious ohana were going to be so careless, then it was only a matter of time before their compassionate nature lead to their downfall. In the meantime, he would have to behave himself, waiting for the precise moment to strike.

Turning slightly and squeezing through the doorway, the scientist made his way downstairs, taking the steps carefully as they creaked beneath his weight. Though he didn't like to admit it, Jumba hadn't been feeling well ever since he was exiled on Earth. It wasn't that long of a walk from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen, and yet he was huffing and puffing like he'd just run a marathon. His chest felt tight, and as he reached the final step, Jumba paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

The scent of fresh fruit and delicate herbs wafted from the kitchen, drawing his attention as he paused to catch his breath. A human would find these fragrances warm and comforting, familiar even. And yet nothing on this planet felt familiar. None of it felt like home. He watched for a while, sitting on the steps as Pleakley stood at the kitchen counter, chopping a rainbow of fruits. The sight was enough to make his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He wondered if these humans would mind if he tried making something in the kitchen. No, of course they wouldn't. They'd probably see it as Jumba trying to integrate with the family, which was exactly what he wanted. To pull the wool over their eyes just long enough to gain their trust.

Jumba forced himself onto his feet with a bit of effort, using the banister to steady his movements. "What are you making?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he entered the kitchen.

"We're making a healthy and nutritional meal," Pleakley said, his tone a bit more enthusiastic than one would expect from the simple act of cooking. "The humans call this a fruit salad. It's quite fascinating, the combination of colors and the delightful aroma. And not only that, it matches my outfit." He motioned towards his dress, which was bright pink with pictures of cherries on it. "Have to coordinate food with fashion, you know."

Curious, Jumba picked up a brown fruit. "What is this?" he queried, turning it over in his hands.

"That is a kiwi," Pleakley said, smiling proudly. "It's from New Zealand. It's very healthy, high in vitamins and low in calories. Perfect for your new diet plan."

"Is covered in fur."

"That's the skin," Pleakley patiently explained. "You have to peel it off first." He demonstrated by slicing the kiwi in half and scooping out the bright green flesh with a spoon. "See? Delicious and nutritious."

"So this planet is having hairy produce," Jumba said, raising an eyebrow at the questionable fruit. "Must be what little girl was talking about, referring to Jumba as hairy potato."

Pleakley chuckled at Jumba's observation, his antenna twitching with amusement. "It's all part of the Earth experience, Jumba. And speaking of experiences, we've got quite the spread here. Besides the kiwi, we have some apples, grapes, mango, cherries and pineapple. All great for boosting your energy and health," he said, gesturing to the fruits on the counter. Meanwhile, Stitch continued to watch the pair of aliens at the counter, holding a knife in one paw and a pineapple in the other. It was clear that the little critter was eager to contribute, though he might require some guidance.

"626 has right idea," Jumba said, nodding towards his creation. "Best recipe is making salad with very much pineapple fruits. But also boiled chicken, black pepper, whipped cream, ice cream, and macaroni."

"You put macaroni and ice cream in a salad?" Pleakly made a face, his lip curling in disgust. "That can't be good for your health, Jumba."

"Is macaroni salad." The scientist shrugged, patting Pleakley on the shoulder. "What else am I doing to make these Earth foods more palatable?" His gaze returned to the green fruit, considering it for a moment before taking a tentative bite.

The texture was awful, feeling slick and slimy against his tongue. Quickly turning away from his companion, Jumba gagged and fought against the urge to vomit. It was only with a substantial amount of effort that he managed to swallow the offending morsel before backing away from Pleakley's colorful assortment of fruits.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Jumba watched as Pleakley and Stitch worked together to prepare the fruit salad. Their cooperation was heartwarming, though judging by the sneer that formed on his lips, the evil genius wasn't exactly thrilled to see his creation being used in such a positive manner. It was such a waste, knowing what Stitch was capable of, and yet he had to sit there and watch as his ultimate creation was reduced to mere kitchen assistant.

In an effort to distract himself from the wholesome sight taking place in the kitchen, Jumba turned his attention towards a bowl of fruit that had been placed at the center of the table. He plucked an apple from the bowl, examining it briefly before taking a bite.

"Is it good?" Pleakley asked, smiling and glancing over his shoulder.

"Is not bad," Jumba admitted, though he was clearly struggling with the foreign texture. "Needs ice cream, though."

"Fabulous!" Pleakley chirped, clapping his hands together. He spun around, the hem of his dress twirling as he reached for the handle on the refrigerator. Taking a moment to examine its contents, the one-eyed alien spied some eggs and whole grain bread at the back of the fridge. "Ah, this looks appetizing. How about we make omelets for dinner and have them with the fruit salad?"

"Of course, we is doing science in Earth kitchen, yes?" Jumba said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic.

"Why, yes. You could say that cooking is indeed a science." Returning to the fridge, Pleakley started gathering ingredients for the omelets. "We could use some onions, bell peppers, and cheese. Maybe a bit of milk and some herbs for flavor. Oh, and some vegetable oil for the pan." He paused, pulling out a few blocks of various cheeses. "Cheese is a dairy product, right? We've got cheddar, mozzarella, and... swiss?" He looked to Jumba for confirmation.

Forcing a look of mild amusement on his face, Jumba rose from his seat, taking the ingredients from Pleakley and heading to the counter, where a well-seasoned frying pan awaited his culinary creation. "Da, mozzarella is good," he muttered, his smile fading the moment he had his back turned. Seizing the pan from a rack above the stove, the scientist dropped it on the burner with a bit more force than necessary, the metal thud reverberating off the walls.

As Jumba started chopping the onions, the pungent aroma made his eyes water. "Why Earth vegetable do this to me?" he grumbled, sniffling and wiping his streaming eyes with his sleeve.

He cracked the eggs into a bowl, then added a splash of milk and a pinch of herbs, whisking the mixture with a bit more enthusiasm than he expected. Before long the smell of the sautéing onions and peppers filled the kitchen, mingling with the light, fruity scent of the salad.

Stitch, having finished with the pineapple, approached his creator. "Can Stitch help?" he asked, holding up a block of cheese.

Jumba waved a hand, sniffling from the onion fumes. "No, no, I am doing it, 626. But you can keeping me company."

Pleakley, noticing his companion's streaming, watery eyes, quickly took over the chopping. "You focus on the eggs," he said kindly, moving to stand beside Jumba at the counter. "I'll handle the onions."

Moving aside, Jumba allowed the one-eyed alien to take over the vegetable preparation. Stitch plopped down on the kitchen floor, slathering the block of cheese in a generous portion of saliva while his creator stirred the eggs. The munching and slurping sounds faded into the background, mingling with the sizzle and dance of the hot oil. The entire process felt strangely satisfying, with Stitch by his side as Pleakley placed the chopped vegetables into the pan. The colorful array of peppers and onions blended with the eggs, creating a vibrant, albeit oddly shaped, omelet.

"You know, I think I'm getting pretty good at this," Pleakley stated, beaming with pride. "We can flip these like cakepans, right?"

Jumba glanced upwards, where the remnants of Pleakley's last culinary disaster was still embedded in the ceiling. "I am thinking that not good idea." The words had barely left his mouth when the sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation. The girls were outside on the porch, returning from work and school at the end of the day. "626, you go practice good manners," Jumba said, reaching into the silverware drawer and pulling out the necessary utensils. "Set table for humans."

"Ih." It wasn't much of a response, but it was enough to let his creator know that he was on it.

Stitch darted around the kitchen in a blur of movement, flinging silverware in every direction. Pleakly let out a yelp when one of the knives soared past his head, narrowly missing his shoulder and sticking in the wall. Unable to conceal his amusement at the sight of his startled companion, Jumba burst out laughing, the sound ending abruptly in a fit of coughing just as Nani and Lilo walked in.

"Hey, that's not funny!" Pleakley reached up, his slender fingers closing around the strap of his dress where the fabric had been grazed by the knife. "I almost had a wardrobe malfunction!"

"Do I want to know what we walked in on?" Lilo asked hesitantly.

Coughing and clearing his throat, Jumba wiped his eyes. "Is nothing. We are preparing foods for nutritious meal with family." He gestured towards the table, a spoon sticking straight up in one of the bowls of fruit salad. That's right, put emphasis on doing something good for the... what did they call it? Ohana? Yes, of course, that'll make everything appear perfectly normal.

Jumba moved towards the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and motioning for Nani to sit. For the time being, he would act friendly towards these people, even though it irked him to no end having to be nice to them. They didn't notice the muscle twitching over one of his eyes as Nani slid her chair into place, nor did they see the way he clenched his fist around the back of her chair, leaning over and forcing a smile on his face.

"So what's the occasion?" Nani asked, spearing a piece of fruit with her fork.

"No occasion. Jumba decide to make meal for family." The word tasted bitter on his tongue. They weren't his family. They probably didn't even want him here.

Still eager to be of use, Stitch leapt onto the counter and started serving the omelets onto plates, though he was moving so fast the eggs went flying everywhere. In a moment of quick thinking, his extended his extra set of limbs, using them to catch the food before it could splatter on the floor. Most of it anyway.

Looking up from the mess he made, Stitch grinned sheepishly, his ears drooping. Jumba sighed, taking the spatula from his creation.

"No, 626, letting me do it. Humans is not appreciating big mess on kitchen floor." The scientist scooped the omelets onto the plates, ensuring everyone received an equal portion. Meanwhile, Pleakley was putting the finishing touches on the napkins he'd meticulously sculpted into the shape of flowers. He held each one delicately, making sure they were just right before gently placing them on the table.

"Remember, Jumba, it's important that the presentation be visually stimulating," Pleakley reminded him. "Humans appreciate a meal that looks as good as it tastes."

"And we is consuming paper squares too, yes?" Jumba asked, holding up one of Pleakley's blossoming napkins. Though he noticed a hint of sarcasm in his voice, the one-eyed alien still managed a slight chuckle, retrieving his flower and placing it back on the table.

Lilo's eyes widened as she took her first bite. "Mmm, Jumba! This is the best omelet I've ever had!" Her sister smiled, taking a more cautious bite.

"It's not bad," Nani said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I didn't know you could cook."

Taking a seat at the table, Jumba managed his first genuine smile. "I can do more than the sciencing," he said, casually tossing one of Pleakley's designer napkins over his shoulder and onto the floor. Looking over at his creation, he noticed Stitch eyeing the chips and salsa longingly from the counter. "No, 626. Tonight we eat good with family. No junk."

Stitch pouted but obediently took a bite of the fruit salad, which was a vibrant mix of sweet and tangy flavors. The meal was met with nods and approval from those gathered around the table. Even Stitch, after a few suspicious sniffs, devoured his food. It was a sight that stirred something in his chest, seeing his creation happily eating the meal he'd made.

Like a parent feeding his young, Jumba slowly lowered his fork, watching the slobber dripping from Stitch's lips as the furry creature hastily shoveled the fruit into his mouth. It was a peculiar feeling, something akin to parental affection beginning to take root. Jumba had never really taken the time to observe his creation outside of the laboratory setting. It had always been numbers, charts and graphs, strictly for the purpose of furthering his research.

"One moment, 626." Reaching across the table, Jumba swiped one of Pleakley's floral napkins, using it to wipe the drool from the corner of Stitch's mouth.

His creation, still a bit hesitant after what had taken place aboard the spaceship, uttered a low growl, his ears flattening against his head. More than anything else, he seemed confused by this affectionate gesture. But then he caught a whiff of the fruit juice that clung to the napkin, his nostrils twitching.

Opening his mouth wide, Stitch clamped down on the napkin, shaking his head like a playful puppy. Knowing his creation's strength, Jumba released the napkin. "626, what am I to be doing with you?" he said, sighing in exasperation.

"Hmm?" Stitch tilted his head, the shredded napkin dangling from his jaws. Sensing the shift in mood, he slumped slightly in his chair. "Stitch sorry," he muttered, his voice small. "Stitch make mess."

"Is okay, 626. Everyone makes mistakes." He gently tugged the remains of the napkin from Stitch's mouth, smiling a little. "We learn now, yes?"

"Ih!" Stitch nodded, wagging his little pom-pom tail.

As the last of the fruit salad was eaten and the dishes neatly arranged in the dishwasher, Jumba could feel the beginnings of a stomachache taking shape in his midsection. He leaned back in his seat, massaging his bloated belly. "I think I am to be lying down. Food feels... heavy."

Pleakley took another bite of his dinner, motioning towards Jumba with his fork. "I told you that not eating properly would make you sick."

The scientist responded with a snarl, crumpling one of the napkins and throwing it across the table at Pleakley. Not wanting them to cause a scene, Nani intervened on Jumba's behalf, suggesting that he turn in early while she finished cleaning up after dinner. Eager to get away from the pack of earthlings, Jumba pushed his chair out and slowly got to his feet. There was a tightness in his chest, making it difficult to draw a full breath. Though wether or not it was from the indigestion or something else he couldn't be sure.

"I don't think he feels good," Pleakley said once Jumba was out of earshot. "We might want to keep an eye on him. Sometimes it can be difficult for non-native species to adapt to life on a new planet."

"What's the matter with him?" Lilo asked, standing on her tiptoes and lowering a stack of dirty dishes into the sink. Though her tone carried a hint of curiosity, it was clear that she was concerned about the newest member of their family.

"I don't know," Pleakley said with a shrug. "It could be food intolerance, difficulty adjusting to the new environment, an illness. Without proper observation and diagnosis, it's difficult to say what's been troubling him."

"You know, despite everything he's put you through, I've noticed you seem to really care about him," Nani said, looking up from scrubbing a particularly stubborn piece of egg off one of the plates.

"Oh, I know what it looks like. But Jumba's not as evil as he wants everyone to believe." Rising from the table, the one-eyed alien added his bowl to the collection of dishes in the sink. "All things considered, he could have done much worse. He could have abandoned me after he accidentally shot me with the tranquilizer, but instead he chose to drag me all the way back to the hotel. Could have done without the limp noodle comments, though. That stung a bit. His words, I mean."

Sitting on the floor, Stitch tilted his head, listening intently to their conversation. His ears perked up at the mention of his creator possibly being sick. Earlier in the day, he had picked up on the scent of something unusual. Something that smelled suspiciously like the warm, fetid stench of a growing infection. His claws clicking across the linoleum, the furry alien padded across the kitchen and towards the stairs, thinking that it might be worth checking up on his creator.

Chapter Text

By the time Jumba reached their shared bedroom, he was overcome by another wave of dizziness, the room spinning as he leaned heavily against the doorframe. He took a tentative step forward, feeling as though the floor was going to slide out from under his feet. It was a miracle he managed to make it to his bed, staggering sideways and collapsing against the mattress, the bedsprings groaning in protest against his weight.

He lay still for several minutes, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his roiling insides. A feeble moan dribbled past his lips, his stomach burning with a deep, piercing ache. When the nausea finally began to subside, Jumba tried rolling over and finding a more comfortable position, the fabric of the pillowcase sticking to his damp forehead. The cool evening breeze filtered through the curtains, doing little to ease the heat that was steadily rising beneath the collar of his shirt. For a while he drifted in a haze, listening to the distant voices beneath the floorboards. Though it offered little comfort, feeling as though he were all alone in this strange new world.

They didn't want him here. Why would they? He was a prisoner here, exiled to an island in the middle of nowhere, left to rot in the backwaters of some galactic cesspit. Nobody cared what happened to him now.

It was with this final thought that Jumba finally sank into the depths of slumber, his thoughts wandering over the countless nights spent in his laboratory. It was a time when his every waking moment had been consumed by the pursuit of knowledge and power, driving him to conduct more research, more experiments, his curiosity matched only by his own cruelty.

He believed that emotions were for the weak minded individuals who couldn't stomach sacrificing the lives of others for scientific purposes. A multitude of genetically modified life forms had been born of his twisted mind, with even more lost in the process. Jumba had never allowed such weaknesses to influence his decisions. He had always been the one in control, the provider of solutions, the brilliant mind responsible for the advancement in genetic engineering. And now, lying in bed with the beginnings of illness starting to take hold, the feeling of vulnerability that came with being sick was both foreign and unsettling for such an accomplished scientist.

He continued to drift in and out of a restless sleep, the silence punctuated by fits of coughing and occasional groans of discomfort. It wasn't until some time later when Jumba was jolted awake by the sensation of something cold and wet on his forehead. A low gasp sounded in the darkness of his room, his eyes opening wide in the moonlight. Blinking slowly, Jumba could just make out the silhouette of his creation hovering close by, his eyes gradually becoming used to the darkness of their shared bedroom.

"Jumba sick," Stitch murmured, holding a drippy washcloth in his paws. Moving cautiously, he pushed himself up onto his hind legs, his nose twitching as he once again picked up on the scent of infection.

"626, what are you doing?" Jumba asked, pushing the cloth away with a grumble. The last thing he wanted right now was a reminder of how his creation had strayed from his original programming.

Stitch's ears wilted, hanging limp at his sides. "Stitch help. Jumba hot."

"Eh?" Jumba held the back of his hand against his forehead, realization slowly dawning on him when he felt the heat radiating off his skin. The layer of soft hair that covered his scalp was damp with perspiration, and he had started shivering.

For a moment he stared at his creation in bewilderment. This miniature fuzzball was actually trying to help. In his feverish state, he once again found himself struggling to comprehend such behavior. It was puzzling, to say the least. However, Jumba was in no fit state to argue with his creation.

"Ah, thank you," Jumba said, allowing Stitch to place the damp washcloth on his forehead. Unfortunately, his creation wasn't exactly programmed in the selfless art of caregiving, preferring to drop the sodden cloth directly onto his creator's face.

"Stitch help?" he repeated, his furry features coming into view as Jumba lifted the washcloth off his face.

"Of course," Jumba said through gritted teeth, repositioning the washcloth on his forehead. He placed his hand on Stitch's back, pushing him off to the side. "Now go. Sit."

His mission accomplished, Stitch curled up on the mattress next to his creator, his presence offering a small comfort. The hours passed in silence, until Jumba shifted in his sleep, reaching over and draping his arm around the blue lump of fur. This was the scene when Pleakley entered the room, dressed in a lightweight nightgown as he started getting ready for bed.

"Jumba?" Pleakly's voice was quiet, opening the door and approaching the bed. Stitch's ears perked up, instantly awake and alert as the one-eyed alien switched on the bedside lamp. "How is he?" Pleakley asked, looking from Stitch to Jumba's sleeping form.

"Not good," Stitch said, slowly shaking his head. He wriggled out from underneath Jumba's arm, chattering in his native language while gesturing towards the washcloth, which had warmed considerably due to the heat from Jumba's fever.

Pleakley's face fell, his singular eye taking in the sight of Jumba's flushed features. The scientist was still asleep, mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling with harsh, wheezing breaths. 

"Oh dear. This isn't good. This isn't good at all." Pleakley anxiously fiddled with the sleeve of his nightgown, glancing around the room as though searching for something or someone that could help. When the sound of Nani's footsteps caught his attention, he quickly sprinted out into the hall, informing her of Jumba's condition.

"I told you he isn't feeling well. I can tell just from looking at him. For all we know this could be potentially lethal, or maybe even contagious. We don't know how his body will react to the microorganisms on this planet. And not only that - "

"Hmm?" Jumba opened his eyes, blinking in the light of the bedside lamp. He could hear Pleakley's panicked voice carrying down the hall, coupled with the sound of his feet slapping against the floor as the one-eyed alien ushered Nani into their room.

"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here," Nani said, kneeling beside the bed. While she wasn't exactly a parental figure, her time spent caring for her little sister had taught her a thing or two about dealing with illness. She reached towards the scientist, and for a moment he was still, staring in bewilderment as she lifted the washcloth and held the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Excusing me, but uh... what are you doing?" Jumba asked, feeling thoroughly confused by her behavior. He'd never been cared for like this, not even during his youth. It was part of his past that had taught him to be independent at a young age, relying on his intelligence and scientific skills.

"Pleakley told me that you have a fever. Though I can see that Stitch has already been helping with that." She moved her hand downwards, feeling his cheek, which was also hot to the touch. "You're burning up," she said, her voice filled with genuine concern. "I think we should take your temperature. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Is just... Earth sickness," Jumba insisted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "It will pass." The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a sudden surge of pain lancing his abdomen. His hand closed around the fabric of his blanket, directly over his stomach. "Jumba is not... Jumba is not needing your assistance," he hissed through his teeth, wincing in pain.

Try as he might, Jumba wasn't fooling anyone. Nani and Pleakley exchanged concerned looks, while Stitch sat on the foot of the bed, watching the scene unfold with his usual curiosity.

"I'll get the thermometer." And with that Pleakley vanished in a flurry of ruffles and pastel fabric, heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

Stitch, ever the eager helper, tilted his head to the side. "Stitch get medicine?"

"Let's hold off on the medicine for a while," Nani replied, taking a seat beside him on the bed. "We don't know if our medicine is safe for..." She paused, looking down at the four-eyed scientist. "For alien life forms. But you can bring me a bowl of water for his fever. And be careful with it!" she hastily added, seeing the little blue alien rocket out of the room at lightning speed.

Jumba watched him go, one hand holding his ample belly. "Must... must be delirious..." he groaned. This was followed by another coughing episode, each spasm stabbing his chest with searing pain. Finally, as the coughing subsided, Jumba slumped against the pillows, his sight swimming. Surely this had to be a product of his feverish mind. Stitch had learned empathy and compassion from the humans, but why would he try to help the man who manipulated him into leaving his family?

Despite Jumba's initial skepticism, his creation was quick to return, carrying a bowl of tepid water which he placed on the nightstand. Though he tried not to spill the water, several drops cascaded over the side, landing with a splash on the hardwood floor.

Grinning sheepishly, Stitch backed away from the bed, expecting Nani to scold him for making a mess. Instead, he received a muttered thanks and a pat on the head, her attention focused on his creator as she refreshed the washcloth in the bowl of water, wringing out the excess and placing the cloth on Jumba's forehead.

The skittering of Pleakley's footsteps announced his return moments later. "Come on now, this will only take a minute," he said, trying to coax Jumba into opening his mouth.

He received a fierce glare from the ailing scientist, who despite being in a weakened state was no less intimidating. Fortunately, Pleakley had the patience to deal with his uncooperative patient, and after a few minutes of gentle persuasion Jumba complied with the request, allowing Pleakley to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

The seconds crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace, until finally the silence of the room was interrupted by the electronic beep. Pleakley's singular brow furrowed, holding the thermometer up to read the digital numbers. "Jumba, your temperature is... is ninety-nine point eight," he announced to the room, his voice trembling slightly. "For a human, this would be considered a mild fever. But for you..." His voice trailed off into silence, his eye widening as he double-checked the readout.

"So what exactly does that mean?" Nani asked, her tone mirroring his visible concern.

"It means that a temperature of ninety-nine point eight is actually quite substantial," said Pleakley, trying to keep his tone professional despite his growing anxiety. "You see, Nani, Jumba is from an alien race known as the Kweltikwan. Their average internal temperature is a few degrees cooler than you earthlings. Normally, his species operates at a temperature of ninety-six point eight. So with it being much higher, this would be the equivalent of - "

"One-hundred and one degrees," Nani interrupted, quickly doing the math in her head. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Do we know what's causing this?"

Pleakley's long, slender fingers knitted together, fretting over his companion's health and well being. "It's hard to say, Nani. This planet has bacteria and viruses that our bodies are not accustomed to. It could even be something as simple as a change in climate, or something in the air or water that Jumba's body isn't used to. For all we know, his immune system could be overreacting to a common element in this new environment."

"Alright, let's not panic." Nani dipped the washcloth into the bowl of water, dabbing at Jumba's face and neck before placing it back on his forehead. "Let's try to keep him comfortable so he can rest and get better. Maybe he just needs a couple days to fight off... whatever this is."

"It would also help if we got him changed into something more comfortable," Pleakley added.

"No!" Jumba propped himself up on his elbows, the washcloth slipping down his face and covering three of his eyes. "Am not to be wearing frilly nightie!"

Nani gently placed her hand on Jumba's shoulder. "Easy now. I'm sure we can find something for you to wear that didn't come out of Pleakley's private wardrobe."

By working together, Nani and Pleakley did their best to make Jumba comfortable. They brought in a fan and opened the window, helping to lower the temperature of the room. They also got him changed into an oversized nightshirt and provided him with a small, lightweight blanket so he wouldn't get overheated.

It was well past midnight when Jumba finally started to feel some relief from his symptoms. Though he would still cough occasionally, the herbal tea that Pleakley made helped to ease the scratchiness in his throat. Together with Nani's care, plenty of fluids, and a cool compress, Jumba was finally able to go back to sleep, one thick arm dangling over the side of the mattress.

Pleakley had already fallen asleep while looking through an intergalactic medical textbook, searching for anything which might resemble Jumba's illness. Meanwhile, Stitch had curled up on the foot of the bed and was also asleep, dreaming about coconut cake and marshmallows.

Feeling satisfied with the progress they had made, Nani decided to retire for the evening, though she would be sure to check on him first thing in the morning before going to work. She dimmed the lights in their room, taking one last took at the sleeping scientist before returning to her room.

.oOo.

The house was quiet, the sounds of the day's activities replaced by the soft hum of the nighttime appliances. In the stillness of the night, Jumba dreams were plagued with nightmarish images of experiments gone awry, the looming shadow of the Galactic Council constantly hovering over him. Every time he woke up, the room appeared to tilt and sway before settling back into place, his eyes closing once more before the feverish dreams took hold.

He awoke some time around four in the morning, the room illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. Pleakley was still there, his antenna twitching in his sleep as he slumped in the chair beside the desk. Stitch, ever vigilant, was curled up at the foot of the bed, watching over him while he slept.

"Jumba okay?" Stitch whispered, sensing his creator's movement.

"I'm..." Jumba began, his voice trailing off as he turned his gaze towards the window. The moon was shining brightly amongst the stars, and yet the heavens seemed so far away, no more than a solitary speck of light on the horizon. The galaxy he was so familiar with, his home planet, his laboratory, all of it was gone. And for the first time in his life, Jumba felt something akin to loneliness. "I don't know," he murmured, glancing over at his creation.

Once he had been the infamous evil genius known throughout the galaxy for his illegal genetic experiments. Now he was lost, this world and its inhabitants completely foreign to him. He had no emotional attachment to these humans, or to Pleakley, who was nothing more than his assigned babysitter. The only thing he had left that was truly his own, that he had shaped and created with his own two hands, was Stitch.

Before he had attempted to capture his creation, Jumba wondered what it must be like having no greater purpose, having absolutely nothing, not even memories that Stitch could visit during the late hours of the night. He now found himself in a similar situation, only instead of having nothing from the start, Jumba had lost everything. So which was worse? Having nothing and no one from the very beginning, or losing everything he cared about?

Despite the late hour, Stitch padded across the bed towards his creator. Reaching out in the dark, his paw made contact with Jumba's forehead, mimicking Nani's earlier actions. His presence was comforting, a reminder that maybe Jumba wasn't alone after all.

"I see that you are learning." Jumba lifted a hand, gently stroking the fur on Stitch's back. "Is not what I would have expected. But considering our current situation, Jumba should not be one to complaining."

The room darkened as the moon dipped below the horizon, the shadows stretching across the floorboards. After a while, Jumba's eyes began to close, his body overcome with fever and fatigue. He gave Stitch one final pat on the head before drifting off to sleep, his creation staying close throughout the remainder of the night.

Chapter Text

As the early morning sunlight began to filter through the curtains, Pleakley stirred in his chair beside the desk, blinking and yawning as the sun shone across his face. The book that he'd been reading was still open, draped across his lap from the night before.

Rubbing sleep from his eye, he looked towards the bed, where he noticed a blue clump of fur curled up next to Jumba. As usual, the scientist was sprawled out on his back, but with Stitch nestled in the crook of his arm, providing a source of comfort throughout the night. It was pleasantly surprising, seeing them both together, sleeping peacefully. Pleakley had been hoping that the pair would eventually settle into their new home and start to get along. Waking up to Stitch snuggled up next Jumba was definitely a step in the right direction.

After setting the book aside on the desk, Pleakley got to his feet and moved towards the bed. Instantly alert, Stitch's ears perked up, his eyes opening as he watched the one-eyed alien.

"Shh." Pleakley held a finger to his lips. "Jumba needs his rest. Let's try not to wake him up, Stitch." He carefully removed the washcloth, draping it over the side of the bowl and laying his hand across Jumba's forehead. "Hmm, still feels hot. Though naturally I don't expect him to recover overnight."

"Ohh." Stitch's ears drooped, looking down at Jumba's sleeping form.

"There there, little guy." Pleakley affectionately patted the creature's head. "We'll continue to care for him to the best of our ability. If all goes well, he should be back to his old self in a couple of days. But for now, we should let him rest. We'll see about getting him something to eat later, after he wakes up."

Tilting his head to the side, Stitch watched as Pleakley refreshed the washcloth in the bowl of water before placing it back on Jumba's forehead. There was a low groan, the bedsheets rustling as Jumba's eyes fluttered open, staring at the ceiling in a daze before exhaustion pulled him under.

It was a worrying situation, seeing the formidable scientist reduced to a slumbering mass of fever and suffering. Seeing his creator in such a state made Stitch hesitant to leave Jumba's side, even though his stomach was rumbling with hunger. Inching closer, the furry alien uttered a low whine, speaking a few short sentences in his native language. His tone was questioning, concerned. That much was clear. Even though Pleakley didn't always understand the little critter, he could at least pick up on his tone in order to understand his mood.

"Oh, come on now." Pleakley slid his hands under Stitch's arms, lifting him off the bed. "You won't be doing him any favors if you starve yourself." The next thing he knew, he was being placed over Pleakley's shoulder and carried downstairs where the aroma of pancakes and coconut syrup wafted from the kitchen. "We'll check on him later," Pleakley said, gently patting Jumba's experiment on the back. "Right now we need to get you fed."

Stitch's gaze lingered on the door to Jumba's bedroom, the silky texture of Pleakley's nightgown brushing against his fur. He squirmed, grunting and muttering as he tried to wriggle out of the alien's grasp, but ultimately gave in to hunger as soon as they entered the kitchen.

Pleakley let out a startled yelp as Stitch leapt from his arms with surprising speed, landing on the table amid the plates and silverware. The tablecloth went sliding onto the floor, the plates narrowly avoiding the edge of the table, though more than a single mug went toppling over in the process. Sighing heavily, Nani seized the blue alien around his waist, lifting him out of the plate of pancakes he had shoved his face in.

"Did we forget how to sit down at the table and behave?" she scolded. Not that Stitch was paying attention. With a vicious snarl, he squirmed and flailed his limbs, reaching for the half-eaten plate of pancakes. When that failed, he settled for the closest plate within reach and grabbed that instead, devouring the food as Nani held him against her chest.

"He's not misbehaving, he's just energetic," Lilo chirped. As she spoke, a generous portion of coconut syrup dripped from the plate Stitch held in his claws, staining the front of Nani's shirt. "He probably needs something positive to redirect all that energy."

"Like what?" The older of the two sisters practically dropped the sticky alien into a seat at the table. Once he was seated, Nani held the hem of her shirt, looking down at the globs of syrup and strands of fur that stuck to the fabric. "Another mess," she said, sighing with exasperation.

Lilo thought for a minute. "Maybe we could do something nice for Jumba. Like bringing him breakfast in bed." She speared another morsel of pancake with her fork and popped it into her mouth. "We should bring him some flowers too. That always makes people feel better when they're sick."

Pleakley, who was busy returning the tablecloth to its correct position, looked up at the little girl, a smile spreading across his face. "Why, that sounds like a splendid idea."

"Fine," Nani relented, massaging her temples. "But I don't want Stitch digging up anything in my garden. And make sure you clean him up first. I don't have time to be washing a full load of laundry before work. Or scrubbing mud off the floors."

Stitch looked up at Nani, a half eaten pancake clenched between his jaws. His fur was sticky with syrup, sticking out at awkward angles. Surely this wouldn't be an absolute disaster. Right?

.oOo.

Jumba had woken up not long after Lilo and Stitch finished breakfast. He was now propped up on a mound of pillows in bed, absentmindedly scratching a persistent itch on the back of his leg while Pleakley checked on him.

"In all of life, Jumba has never been so miserable," he grumbled, still scratching under his nightshirt. The washcloth on his forehead was now tinged a deep reddish-orange due to the unique color of his perspiration. Though it was considered normal for his species, it created the appearance of blood staining the fabric. Similar splotches blossomed on his nightshirt where the fabric had adhered to his flesh, the garment drenched in sweat from the night before. Pleakley had noticed this soon after Jumba woke up, stating that he would need a fresh change of clothes.

With the last of his strength, Jumba attempted to sit up in bed, the ache in his belly causing him to slump against the pillows with a groan. His eyes squeezed shut against the pain, a harsh wheeze escaping his lips. Everything hurt. His chest was tight, there was a burning pain in the pit of his stomach, and his throat was sore from coughing.

"Uhm, do you... do you require assistance?" Pleakley asked, hesitantly approaching the bed. For a moment he stood back and watched, one hand reaching out, only to stall in midair. Jumba wasn't easily approachable during the best of times, his illness doing nothing to improve his already sour mood.

"No," Jumba snarled, glaring at the one-eyed alien. He rolled over onto his side, his chest heaving as he attempted to push himself off the mattress. "I am quite capable of doing this myself. Now, leaving me in peace. Am not to be undressing in front of peoples."

Pleakley scurried out of the room, passing Lilo and Stitch on the stairs. After a third failed attempt, Jumba finally managed to force himself into a sitting position, eyeing the clean nightshirt laid out for him at the foot of the bed. Reaching for it, Jumba paused when he heard the sound of footsteps outside his bedroom door.

"Pleakley, I thought I was telling you to go away!" Another painful coughing fit chased his words, and it was a moment before he was able to catch his breath.

"It's just us, Jumba." Lilo's voice floated in from the other side of the door. "We brought you a present."

"Huh? A... a present?" His curiosity getting the better of him, Jumba decided the clean clothes could wait. He was already in the habit of neglecting his personal hygiene when he'd been working in the lab, though it was not something he'd readily admit.

The door opened, and Lilo and Stitch entered the room, carrying a tray of food. Stitch had managed to balance a plate with several slices of toast on his head, while Lilo held a cup of tea in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. The smell of the tea was faint but comforting, reminding Jumba of the warmth of home, something he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"Look what we brought," Lilo said, her eyes shining with excitement as she set the bouquet on the nightstand. Apparently the child had gathered a handful of pink and white plumeria, depositing the delicate blooms in a glass half filled with water, creating a makeshift vase for the ailing scientist.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and for a moment Jumba seemed at a loss for words. "Thank you, little girl," he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the soft petals. "These are very nice... krasivyj," he added, slipping back into his native language.

"You're welcome," Lilo replied, her voice filled with pride. "Stitch and I picked them just for you to help you feel better."

"Ih, Stitch help!" There was a flower stem lodged between his sharp teeth, leaving Jumba to wonder if his creation had been manually pruning the hedges during their outing.

Leaning back against the mound of pillows, Jumba allowed himself a moment to admire the flowers. This simple gesture of kindness was deeply touching, though it was not without a touch of curiosity, wondering why they would be so kind to someone who had done nothing to deserve it.

Stitch held out the plate, offering the slices of lightly buttered toast. He then rambled off something in his alien language that only Jumba seemed to understand.

"Nani said we should make something mild because your tummy is bothering you," Lilo explained, and Stitch nodded in agreement. "So she helped us make you some toast and chamomile tea for breakfast."

The scientist tentatively picked up a piece of toast, noticing that the edges were slightly burnt. "I'm guessing bigger girl is having to intervene on 626's behalf," he said, tearing off a piece of the blackened crust and setting it aside on the plate.

Lilo giggled. "Yeah, kinda."

Despite the appearance of the scorched toast, Jumba carefully nibbled his breakfast, chewing slowly and swallowing with some difficulty. He tore off small pieces of the toasted bread, dipping them in the tea and washing each bite down with more of the sweetened liquid. Though it was a tedious process, the tea helped soothe the raw edges of his throat, and the sweetness from the honey brought a hint of color back to his cheeks.

It felt good to fill his belly with the soothing warmth of tea and buttered toast, his shoulders sinking as he visibly relaxed. He allowed his massive weight to sink into the pillows, his cough calmed for now, thanks to the healing properties of the chamomile tea. Jumba closed his eyes, and for a while there followed an awkward silence.

What exactly was a little girl to do with a sick alien? It wasn't every day they invited creatures from another planet into their home, let alone having to care for one who was sick with an unknown illness.

Lilo considered him for a moment, taking a step towards the bed. Somehow, he didn't seem quite so threatening now that he was sick. And he wasn't all that hairy either. Maybe furry was a better word for it. In her innocence and curiosity, she reached towards him, her hand inches away from the soft layer of purple fur when one of his eyes opened.

"Why is little girl still here?" he asked, his tone harsher than he intended.

Lilo gasped at his sudden awakening, jerking her hand away from his face. "Uhm, do you want me to read you a story?" she offered, still trying her best to be kind to their new houseguest. "It's what Nani does for me when I'm sick."

Jumba nodded, settling himself more comfortably in bed. "Da, that would be nice."

Lilo's face lit up, and she darted out of the room, returning a moment later with a book titled "The Little Engine That Could." She climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside Jumba, her small frame accompanied by Stitch, who decided that he also wanted hear a story. She opened the book, her voice steady and clear as she began to read, her eyes moving along the pages with surprising skill for someone so young.

Jumba listened to the story, though his focus was more on Lilo than the book she was reading. He studied her movements, watching her animated expressions as she read the story, her eyes sparkling with every "choo choo" of the little engine. Stitch, though not fully understanding the words on the pages, seemed to follow along with the enthusiasm in her voice.

After a while, Jumba's smile returned, feeling a warmth in his heart that hadn't existed for a long time. He was drawn towards Lilo and Stitch's inexplicable behavior more from curiosity than anything else, viewing them with the same scientific fascination he did his past experiments. They interested him, as a fly does a scholar of insects. But it was also comforting, a reminder that maybe he wasn't entirely lost to his work.

As the story came to an end, Jumba could feel his eyelids growing heavy, his body begging for the rest it so desperately needed.

"You should sleep, Jumba," Lilo said, noticing that he was already half asleep as she set the book aside. "Rest is important for getting better."

His response came in the form of a slow, slurred attempt at speech, most of which was lost amid a yawn. He was too tired to form a complete sentence, his breathing evening out as the room faded into darkness behind his eyelids. The sound of the door closing softly echoed through the silence, leaving him with the gentle hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of the palm trees outside his window.

Chapter Text

Jumba spent the rest of the morning in bed, alternating between shivering and sweating, with Pleakley and Stitch doing their best to care for him while Lilo went to school and Nani went to work. Every now and then, they would bring him soup, crackers, and tea, trying to gently coax him into eating something. This proved to be a difficult task, due to Jumba's waning appetite, as well as his dislike of eating human food. It was only with a great amount of effort that he forced himself to drink the tea, picking half-heartedly at the offerings they brought.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that Jumba gathered enough strength to make another attempt at changing into some clean clothes. His nightshirt clung to his chest, damp with perspiration, and his hair was sticking out at odd angles, moist and sticky. Though if he had allowed it, Nani would have helped him into some fresh clothes before leaving for work.

Holding his aching midsection with one hand, the scientist pressed his palm against the mattress, forcing himself into a sitting position. This brief attempt at movement caused the pain in his abdomen to intensify. His lips parting in an anguished groan, the ailing scientist curled in on himself, shaking from head to toe with feverish chills. Something was very wrong, his mind racing as he worked through all the possibilities. But even with his brilliant mind, Jumba was limited in his knowledge of Earth diseases, a fact that he was now painfully aware of.

He briefly considered calling Pleakley for assistance, but then quickly dismissed the idea, thinking that his companion would probably wrap him in nine miles of lace and ribbons. He was also well aware of how he must look. The infamous Dr. Jumba Jookiba, reduced to a shaking, sweating, disheveled mess. It was humiliating, and if he could avoid the prying eyes of his caretakers, then so be it. He didn't need a babysitter.

For a while he remained incapacitated, gasping and groaning as beads of sweat trickled down his fevered brow. Then, after taking a moment to compose himself, Jumba reached out and snatched the clean nightshirt. As quickly as he could, he stripped off his sweat-soaked clothing, tossing it in the hamper in the corner of the room. He had just finished pulling the fresh nightshirt over his head when the itchy sensation returned with a vengeance.

He let out a roar of frustration, completely fed up with this bizarre collection of symptoms. His fingernails dug into the meat of his thigh, scratching the inflamed rash that had spread towards his knees.

"What the...?" His eyes widening in horror, Jumba lifted his hand, gazing down at the source of his discomfort. He'd been itching on and off throughout the day, but up until now he didn't think much of it. It was just an allergy to something in this new environment, he thought. But this... clearly this was more than an allergic reaction. It was a rash that had formed a pattern of curving lines across his heated flesh.

Biting his lip to hold back a series of foreign expletives, Jumba lifted one of his feet off the mattress, seeing a similar rash on his left heel. What in the world was going on?

Before he had time to process what he was seeing, a voice sounded outside his bedroom door.

"Jumba?" It was Pleakley, coming to check on him. "Jumba, are you awake? I thought I heard something." His fingers curled around the doorknob, the door opening to reveal Pleakley's large, singular eye.

"Go away!" Jumba spat angrily, his throat burning with every syllable. "Am having moment of self-examination."

"Is... is something wrong?" Pleakley asked, his tone laced with worry. He cautiously entered their room, keeping one hand on the doorframe in case he had to make a hasty retreat. "Jumba," Pleakley said at length. "What's that on your leg?" He pointed at the rash with a long, slender finger, a look of mild repulsion etched into his features.

"Is rash. Though I have not yet identified origin."

"Maybe I could take a closer look at it?" Pleakley offered, trying his best to be helpful.

"No!" Seizing the hem of his nightshirt, Jumba quickly pulled on the fabric, using it to cover his hips and thighs. "Is not in place I am displaying to public."

"Oh." Pleakley's voice immediately died in his throat. Blinking several times, he slowly began his retreat into the hallway. "I'll uh... I'll leave you to it then. After all, you're the evil genius." He forced a rather half-hearted chuckle, backing out the door in order to escape Jumba's fierce gaze.

Sighing heavily, Jumba lifted the fabric of his nightshirt, examining the rash. There were only so many diseases that could cause symptoms like this. He traced the pattern along his thigh with his fingertips, feeling the curves and twisting lines. This felt different somehow. It felt alive.

"Maybe we should consider seeking professional help," said Pleakley, leaning with his back against the wall. He glanced towards the bedroom door, making sure to keep a safe distance. "This doesn't appear to be getting better. And without proper medical treatment, there's no telling how bad it'll get."

"You are forgetting that I am professional," came Jumba's response from the other side of the door.

"You are a scientist who specializes in genetic engineering," Pleakley countered. "You are not a medical doctor."

"We cannot be risking exposure. Cloning devices only for keeping of the outside appearances. It will do nothing for the hiding of alien biology. Hematologic fluid is indigo. Perspiration is ruddy, like too much wine. Even ignorant Earth species will be knowing that something is different."

"I suppose you're right." Pleakley sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "But we can't ignore this. There has to be something we can do besides cold compresses and herbal tea." Silence followed his words. Pleakley shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. "Jumba? Are you alright?"

"Am thinking." Finally, a response. Jumba's voice was hoarse, but at least he was speaking. "Jumba knows own physiology. Trust in science. Only problem being that..." His voice trailed off, hesitating for a moment. "Am not used to care and concern from people."

"Well, I don't know what else you expected us to do," Pleakley said, chuckling mildly. This time the sound was lighter, with a hint of warmth that hadn't been there before.

Jumba didn't have a response for this. Pleakley was also silent, unsure of how to proceed. The seconds ticked by, each one seemingly longer than the last, stretching on into the fading afternoon sunlight. The shadows lengthened across the floor, and the sound of Pleakley's footsteps retreated down the stairs. They could be friends, but first they would have to learn how to trust each other, a process that would require much time and patience.

.oOo.

When Nani came home from work, she found Jumba asleep in bed, surrounded by a collection of medical textbooks that had been scattered across the mattress. From the looks of it, he had fallen asleep while reading, an open book draped across his chest.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb the ailing scientist, Nani gathered the books and neatly stacked them on the desk next to Jumba's laboratory equipment. She refreshed the washcloth on his forehead, sitting with them and monitoring his condition before moving downstairs to get dinner started.

As the evening wore on, Jumba drifted in and out of sleep, his fever making it difficult to discern reality from the haze of dreams. In his delirium, he saw images of experiments gone awry, the looming shadow of the Galactic Council swirling in the darkness of his mind, blending with the sounds of the ocean and the whispered conversations between Pleakley and Nani.

Distantly, Jumba was aware of them taking turns caring for him, bringing him water, feeding him soup, and checking his temperature. The house seemed to revolve around him, like a planet orbiting a dying star. Even Lilo's boundless energy was subdued, as was Stitch, who now spent the majority of his time curled up in bed beside his creator.

"He's not getting better," Nani told Pleakley one evening, keeping her voice low so as not to wake their sleeping patient. "If anything, I think he's getting worse. He's not eating, and I'm having a hard time getting him to drink anything."

"To be fair, Jumba's species doesn't usually consume their meals like we do," Pleakley explained, though it did little to ease her mind. "Kweltikwans have a fully functional digestive system; however, they've developed the use of transdermal patches for daily nutritional requirements. If we had something like that, it would be easier to feed and care for him."

Nani sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You don't suppose it's a digestive issue, do you? Like an allergic reaction from eating the food here? I mean, if he isn't used to eating, and then he starts complaining about nausea, stomach pains, and breaks out in a rash after living with us and eating our food, then... what else could it be?"

Pleakley considered her suggestion. "I would say yes, but his fever suggests there's something more going on. He must have developed some sort of infection. Otherwise, his body wouldn't be responding in such a manner." A pause, and then he added, "Still, we can't rule out the possibility of both things happening at once. I just don't know where he would have picked up an infectious disease. None of us have been ill recently."

Stitch, ever attentive, remained by Jumba's side while Nani and Pleakley conversed in the hall, his paw occasionally reaching out to touch Jumba's forehead, mimicking Nani's earlier actions. He seemed to have picked up on the human custom of checking for fever, watching and learning the process of caretaking.

"Jumba," Stitch said, his voice small in the stillness of the room. "Jumba okay?" His fur was ruffled, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bedside lamp Nani had turned on before leaving for the night.

Jumba rolled over in bed, seeing the blurry image of his creation perched beside him on the mattress. He opened his mouth to speak, only to launch into another coughing fit, his chest aching with each painful expulsion. "Not... not good," he admitted, his eyes watering from the searing pain in his throat.

Stitch moved closer, his soft whines gradually fading as Jumba's breathing evened out. Not knowing what else to do, the furry creature looked around the room, spying the glass of water on the nightstand. He nudged the glass closer to Jumba's hand. "Drink," he gently urged. "Water good for sick."

"No," Jumba groaned, his voice hoarse. He coughed again, wincing and bringing a hand to his throat. "I cannot be tolerating any more of these foods and beverages. It's... it's..." His sentence cut off abruptly, and he gagged, clamping a hand over his mouth.

The blankets fell away as Jumba sat up in bed, his pain momentarily forgotten in the wake of a sudden surge of nausea. He tried to steady his breathing, feeling as though the contents of his stomach had soured, curdling like rancid milk. Gasping for breath, he tentatively lowered his hand, his throat muscles working to swallow the saliva that was pooling at the back of his mouth. This, of course, only served to irritate his sore throat, causing him to cough and retch.

"626..." he murmured, covering his mouth to stifle a sickly belch. The sound that escaped was wet, gurgling and rising in his esophagus. A layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his entire body trembling. "I'm... I think..." It was all he could manage, swallowing thickly in an attempt to force the acidic bile back where it belonged.

His breath was coming faster now, catching in his chest as he fought against another coughing fit. He couldn't. Not here, not now, his eyes widening as he glanced around the room in a panic. Stitch, reading the expression on his face, went for the wastepaper basket beside the nightstand, holding it up as Jumba leaned over the side of the bed, retching violently.

A choking gasp cut through the stillness of the room, chased by a secondary belch that expelled the contents of his stomach. A watery combination of greenish bile and clear fluids splattered against the inside of the wastepaper basket, each forceful heave piercing his abdomen with burning agony. His sight was swimming, blurring around the edges, and for a brief moment Jumba swore he was going to pass out.

In that moment, lingering on the edge of unconsciousness, the images from his fevered dreams crept back into his mind. There were angry voices, members of the Galactic Council shouting, pointing fingers, and raising their fists. This was his punishment. This pain, this illness that had ravaged his body, their voices calling out from within the darkness of his mind. He knew that he deserved this.

He remembered seeing the Grand Councilwoman on her pedestal, the intensity of her glare focused on his creation, while the voices rose in unison, people rising from their seats, shouting, condemning him for his actions. This was all his fault. They hated him. Exiled to Earth, banned from his home planet. Nobody wanted him. Nobody cared.

And for what? For the pursuit of science? To satisfy his own curiosity? His own sadistic needs? It's not like he could turn it off. His brain was always feeding him complex formulas, a constant stream of what-ifs. He never stopped to consider whether or not he should, it was always a question of whether he could. What if he tried combining genetic material from these exotic life forms? Could he create a being with hybrid DNA from two different animals? Three, maybe? Four? Seven?

It was always like this. He couldn't quiet the inner workings of his mind, couldn't sleep at night for want of more. More of everything. More chaos, more destruction, progress for the sake of scientific advancement. He would stay up during the late hours of the night, going over every possible scenario from his life when someone or something had annoyed him, imagining how he could take what had been done and turn it against those who had provoked his wrath. No detail was too small, nothing was left out or forgotten. Because Jumba remembered everything.

Every barking dog that woke him up in the morning, every disgusting individual who double-dipped potato chips at a party, every annoying salesman who repeatedly dialed his number, every single traffic jam he ever got stuck in, as well as the desire to crush anyone who opposed his ruthless nature. It all came out in his experiments. And this was the inevitable conclusion. It was the end of his experiments, the end of everything, so far away from home.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"We need... formula for medicine." Using the last of his strength, Jumba began the arduous task of searching through the stack of medical textbooks and research materials, his hands trembling as he selected a book titled 'Infectious Diseases and Treatments'. "Here," he wheezed, finding the section on parasitic infections.

The pages were filled with microscopic images of various parasites and their life cycles, along with a list of treatments and potential side effects. His eyes scanned the text, the words swimming in and out of focus as his mind worked to translate the complicated information.

There were certain benefits to being one of the most accomplished scientists in the galaxy. One of them being that he had access to medical literature, complex formulas, and documents most people couldn't obtain under normal circumstances. Even in his weakened state, Jumba was able to push through his feverish haze, working through a series of complex calculations and symbols. His hands shook with every page he turned, his heart racing, but his thoughts were focused, steady and calm.

He knew exactly what he had to do. Everything he needed was right in front of him, the instructions covering the precise chemical compounds and measurements required to synthesize the medication, including the onset, duration, and correct dosage. Anyone else would have struggled to comprehend such complex instructions. But for Dr. Jumba Jookiba, the process of synthetic chemistry was as simple as brewing a pot of tea.

"This... right here." Jumba pointed to a specific paragraph, his finger tracing the line of text that formed the basis of the medicinal compound he needed. "This is the formula." It was only with a great amount of effort that he managed to speak, his breathing ragged. It was going to take everything he had just to force himself through the process without collapsing midway.

Jumba looked up from his book, taking stock of the supplies at his disposal. "We... we need... to... to synthesize," he murmured, his head dropping to the desk with a soft thunk. "Jumba can... can use knowledge... make medicine."

Darkness crept into the corners of his vision, and for a moment he briefly nodded off at his desk.

"Jumba?" Stitch's voice was there, faded and distant, but laced with a sudden anxiety. He felt the creature's paws on his shoulder, shaking him. "Jumba! Jumba, wake!"

The scientist awoke with a start, blinking and looking around the room in confusion. "Jumba," Stitch repeated, his voice tight with worry. "You okay?"

Jumba pushed himself upright, his head pounding. "Da. Just... resting eyes." He looked down at the book, his mind racing with the steps he needed to take. "First," he said, pointing to a list of ingredients, "we need these... these ingredients."

Stitch nodded eagerly, his eyes scanning the list. He didn't understand the words, but he understood the urgency in his creator's voice.

"That one first," Jumba rasped, pointing to one of the containers on his desk. Stitch followed his instructions, lifting a beaker that contained a clear, viscous liquid and handing it to his creator.

His chest rising and falling with short, strained breaths, the ailing scientist wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, willing the tremors to subside. He had to focus, pushing through his discomfort and measuring the correct amount of each ingredient Stitch gave him.

His sight was swimming as he squinted at the measurements on the page, the numbers blurring before his eyes, slowing the process. Sometimes he would pause to reread the instructions. Other times he would experience a sudden, severe coughing fit, forcing him to set aside his work until his breathing evened out. The entire process was agony, as evidenced by the growing pile of tissues in the wastebasket, reeking of stale mucus and the metallic scent of blood.

"Almost finished," Jumba muttered, turning the page to the next set of instructions. "Now... now we need... the... the next one." He gestured weakly to the next ingredient on the list, a silver powder in a small jar. Stitch quickly snatched the jar, his claws clicking against the smooth surface. He unscrewed the lid, offering it to Jumba, who carefully measured out a scoop and added it to the mixture.

Together they continued working on into the night. The bond between them, once formed out of fear and a desire for control, had transformed into something far more complex. This was something deeper, something real. He could see it shining in the depths of Stitch's eyes, his creation working tirelessly to help save the man who brought him into this world.

"626..." Jumba wheezed, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. He could feel the intensity of his fever burning through his veins, his lungs practically screaming for air. "This... this is final step." The words had barely left his mouth when he felt the floor tilt beneath his feet, staggering sideways and reaching for the desk to maintain his balance.

Panic flared to life in Stitch's chest, his heart beating a fierce tempo against his ribs. He lapsed into his alien speech, chattering and calling out his creator's name. Only this time it wouldn't be enough. Jumba wasn't even hearing him, his knees buckling as the strength went out of his legs.

All four of his eyes rolled back in his head, blackness eclipsing his vision with a sudden finality. If it weren't for Stitch's quick reflexes and immense strength, Jumba would have struck the floor in his descent. The blue alien reacted just in time to catch his creator, supporting his massive weight with both sets of arms. The last thing Jumba remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, his creation calling for help from the rest of the family.

Nani and Pleakly entered the room moments later, both of them taken aback by the sight of Stitch cradling Jumba's unconscious form on the floor. Nani gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Pleakley squeezed his slender form through the doorway, moving past her and rushing towards his fallen companion.

"What happened to him?" Nani asked, her eyes widening at the sight before them. Slowly, she moved from the doorway, fearing the worst as she watched Pleakley kneel beside Jumba, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse.

Stitch responded with a slew of high-pitched jabbering and frantic gestures, pointing to the desk and miming the process of mixing chemicals. Pleakley's singular eye glimpsed the medical kit and open textbooks before returning to his companion, his hand moving to his forehead to check Jumba's temperature.

"He's finally succumbed to his illness," Pleakley murmured, noting the way his companion was struggling to breathe. "From the looks of it, he was trying to invent a cure, but his condition is critical. We need to get him into bed and work on easing his fever."

"He was trying to invent a cure?" Her brow furrowed, Nani turned towards the makeshift laboratory setting where Jumba had been working prior to his collapse. Her eyes darted from one object to the next, spying bits of alien technology and softly simmering chemicals that gave off a strange aroma.

Pleakley nodded, his antenna drooping. "It certainly seems that way. Though I don't know if he managed to produce anything that might alleviate his symptoms." He shifted slightly, standing beside Stitch as they prepared to move Jumba to the bed. "Nani, a little help, please."

Her attention snapped back to the ailing scientist. Her movements swift, Nani crossed the room and knelt beside the furry blue alien, sliding her arms underneath Jumba's massive frame. Together with Pleakley and Stitch's help, they were able to lift him off the floor. Though it required a bit of effort and some careful maneuvering to place him on the mattress, his weight and size complicating the process.

The springs groaned in protest, the mattress sinking towards the floor as Jumba was carefully lowered onto his bed. Once he was settled, Nani told Stitch to bring her more washcloths from the bathroom. The furry experiment nodded, scurrying down the hall and around the corner as fast as his legs could carry him. Pleakley, meanwhile, was busy studying the medical supplies, books, and equipment on the desk, hoping it might provide them with an answer as to what was making Jumba so horribly ill.

"Dr. Jookiba has a brilliant mind," Pleakley stated, his eye scanning the pages of the medical textbook left open on the desk. "It doesn't surprise me that he would try to figure out what is wrong. The question is, did he manage to catch it in time?"

Stitch returned with his arms full of washcloths, accidentally dropping a few as he approached the bed. Water pinged against the bowl, a shower of droplets splashing on the surface as each cloth was wrung out, the first one draped across Jumba's forehead. Nani gently tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, her fingers lifting the pale blue fabric and placing another cloth on Jumba's chest. Stitch hopped onto the mattress, using all four of his paws to pass the damp fabric over Jumba's arms and legs, helping to gradually bring down his fever.

Though he wasn't exactly skilled in the art of caretaking, sloshing some of the water onto the floor and sheets, Nani appreciated Stitch's concern. "Good boy," she murmured, pausing to pat his head. "I'm just grateful Lilo isn't awake for this."

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. The hour was late, the silver crescent having already risen above the horizon. Its pale form shone brightly against the silhouette of the palm trees, their leaves dipping and bending in the evening breeze. It would be a while before Jumba showed signs of regaining consciousness, shifting slightly and moaning just as Nani was refreshing the cloth on his forehead.

"Jumba? Can you hear me?" She leaned in close, hoping for a reply.

His speech slurred, the scientist responded with an incoherent string of utterances, most of it in his native language.

Pleakley joined the others beside the bed, keeping watch over his companion as Jumba lingered on the edge of consciousness. He was about to speak, offering a possible translation for Jumba's unique brand of intergalactic Russian, when a figure approached the doorway, a ragged doll dangling from her grasp.

"What's happening? Is Jumba okay?"

The three of them turned, seeing Lilo standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Unlike Pleakley and her older sister, Lilo hadn't been awake when Stitch called for help earlier. It took a moment for the distant sounds and creaking floorboards to pierce the depths of her mind as she slept. But as soon as she was awake, she climbed the stairs to Jumba and Pleakley's room, following the sound of hushed voices and frantic whispers.

Clutching the doll against her chest, Lilo padded into the room on bare feet, her brow creased with worry. Nani turned back to Jumba, calling his name and squeezing his hand in hopes of eliciting a response. Preferably one in a language they could understand.

"Nani?" Lilo's voice was small and frightened. "Is Jumba gonna die?"

Nani chewed her bottom lip, trying and failing to force a smile on her face. "No, of course not, sweetheart. He's just very sick."

"Maybe I should escort her to her room," Pleakley whispered behind his hand, leaning in so only Nani could hear him. He had barely finished his sentence when his companion shifted slightly against the mattress, his eyes fluttering open.

Jumba grimaced and wheezed, inhaling deeply before another coughing fit seized his chest, his ribs aching tremendously. At one point he appeared to choke, coughing so hard he nearly began to vomit. He didn't even hear the little girl's voice as she approached the bed, the sound of his own ragged breath filling his ears.

"Breathe, Jumba," Nani gently urged, struggling to keep the anxiety out of her tone. She didn't want to frighten her sister anymore than she already was. "Just keep breathing. We're right here, Jumba. Breathe. That's it now."

Jumba groaned, his vision blurring. "Where... where am I?" he croaked, his throat raw.

Nani's gaze softened, her hand brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. "You're in your room, Jumba," she said, her voice filled with a tenderness he wasn't expecting. "You had a bit of a collapse."

"I... I what?" Jumba gazed at her in confusion, blinking and staring through the feverish haze that clouded his thoughts.

Nani dipped the cloth into the bowl once more, using it to wipe the perspiration from his brow. "Why didn't you tell us how bad it was?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, carrying an undertone of frustration. "We could have helped."

He gazed at each of them in turn, at the many faces that had gathered around his bed. "I..." Jumba opened his mouth to speak, feeling at a loss for words. Hot tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, causing his sight to swim. There were no words for this feeling, no words that he could use to explain their behavior. It was completely foreign to him, his chest aching with the sensation of something new, something warm.

Stitch moved towards his creator, his eyes never leaving the flushed features of Jumba's face. Looking at him now, the ailing scientist could see that he was more than worried. He was scared, his ears drooping, reaching out a trembling paw as he softly whispered, "Jumba okay?"

Jumba returned his gaze, his eyes half closed with exhaustion, and finally he spoke. "I... I am not deserving of your kindness... Not after everything I've done... Who would care for evil genius...? I only create for destruction, for hurting people. Am used to being alone."

Stitch's eyes widened, and he shook his head, his ears flat against his skull. "No, Jumba, no! We family! Stitch care!" He reached out and touched Jumba's cheek, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face.

Nani sighed and sat down on the bed next to Jumba, her hand taking his in a comforting grip. "You're not alone anymore. We're here for you, all of us. We're a family now, and families look out for each other."

Pleakley nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Dr. Jookiba. Our circumstances may be unconventional, but our bonds are no less real. We are all concerned for your well-being."

Even Lilo took a step forward, smiling up at him as she placed her hand atop his own. "We're ohana. And ohana means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

"Oh-haan-na...?" Jumba struggled with the pronunciation, the letters taking shape with difficulty. "Where I am coming from, we say sem'ja..." he wheezed, his breathing slightly labored. "Means... family."

"That works too," said Pleakley, smiling with amusement at Jumba's failed attempt to mimic the island's language. "The message is still the same, and we're going to do everything we can to help you get better. Because that's what you are to us. You're family."

Chapter Text

The silence that followed carried with it a gentle warmth, the echo of something comforting and familiar, something that had once been lost. It had been so long since Jumba experienced the type of love and kindness he associated with having someone care for him. Someone who did so naturally, rather than being forced to do so because of their programming code.

Sniffling, Jumba coughed and wiped his eyes, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you..." he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. "Jumba is not used to such kindness. Is strange concept, having family caring for me."

Nani's grip on his hand tightened. "We're going to get you through this, Jumba. We're not going to let you go without a fight."

Pleakley joined the others, placing a comforting hand on Jumba's shoulder. "You need to rest now," he said, his voice mirroring the family's earlier statements of love and support. "We'll handle everything from here."

Jumba tried to protest, but his words were lost amid a fit of coughing, pain lancing his chest with every movement. "Jumba can do with handling it on his own," he managed to croak out, his voice hoarse.

"No, Jumba," Nani firmly stated, her grip on his hand tightening. "You've done enough. We'll take care of it now." There was a fire in her eyes, the likes of which he had never seen before, burning with the strength and determination that had always seen them through, no matter how difficult things were.

Pleakley turned his attention to the desk, the various medical supplies and textbooks laid out on its surface. He spied the book left open to the chapter on parasitic infections. "This is what you were researching?" he asked, barely suppressing a shiver at the grotesque images in the book.

Nani's expression was grim, moving to stand beside the one-eyed alien. "A parasitic infection?" she queried, her eyes travelling the complicated medical text, trying to make sense of it all. "This isn't even native to Hawaii. It's brought over by travelers. In most cases, it doesn't even cause serious symptoms. People can have this for a long time without feeling sick, unless they have a weakened immune system."

"Is true for humans," Jumba stated, wheezing and struggling to force his words past the raw, irritated tissues of his throat. "I suspect form of hyperinfection. Body... not yet accustomed to Earth sickness." He coughed, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "No immunity..." he rasped, shaking his head.

"Oh, I was afraid of something like this." Pleakley brought his hand to his mouth, nibbling his fingernails. "This is why we routinely check for parasites when we encounter new lifeforms. It doesn't help that those native to Quelte Quan are highly susceptible to parasitic infections. There's even a specific type of parasite that has evolved on Jumba's home planet, which only infects his kind."

Nani's eyes flicked to Stitch, who had taken to nuzzling Jumba's hand, offering what comfort he could. She looked down at the book again, her thumb tracing the words on the page. "The book recommends a specific type of antiparasitic medication," she said, her voice steady despite her concern. "Wait a minute." The book nearly slid from her grasp at the realization of what he'd done. "Jumba," she breathed, in awe at his brilliance. "You've already done it, haven't you?"

Jumba allowed himself a weak smile, nodding in response to her question. His gaze drifted towards his desk, where he had placed a number of adhesive patches in a metal tin before losing consciousness.

His curiosity piqued, Pleakley bypassed the medical textbooks, leaning over and plucking one of the patches from the container. "Jumba, you're incredible," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

"What are those?" Lilo asked, watching as Pleakley unfolded one of the soft patches, holding it up to the light for closer inspection. The material itself appeared to be made of a thick fabric, the smooth texture slightly pliable.

"These are transdermal patches specifically designed for precise administration of medication," Pleakley explained, a grin spreading across his face. "Jumba's species uses these for everything, from basic nutrition to medicine. It's quite fascinating, really. Very simple, yet extremely effective."

With the medication in hand, Pleakley approached the bed, his fingers closing around the scientist's wrist. His movements were surprisingly gentle, positioning Jumba's arm with the palm facing upwards. "You have to locate a vein first," Pleakley said, his thumb feeling along the inside of Jumba's arm. "Ah, here we go."

Finally giving in to exhaustion, Jumba closed his eyes, allowing Pleakley to peel off the adhesive backing before sticking the patch on his forearm. "Thank you," he said, his voice no more than a ragged whisper. With the medicated patch in place, Jumba could finally relax, knowing that he now had a fighting chance against the parasites that had invaded his body.

"We'll need to closely monitor his condition," Pleakley told them, looking around at the others. "If the formula is correct—and I have no reason to doubt Dr. Jookiba's brilliance—he should start showing signs of improvement within the next forty-eight hours. Though it's likely he'll require an extended period of treatment since the infection is so severe."

Stitch sniffed the patch on Jumba's arm, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Smells like... medicine." The furry blue experiment made a face, sticking out his tongue and gagging. "Icky."

Beside them, the little girl yawned, sinking to the floor with Scrump in her lap. It had been a long night for everyone, and even her doll was starting to droop.

"Lilo, sweetheart, it's late," Nani said, rising from her seat on the foot of the bed. She too was feeling the weight of the long hours spent caring for the ailing scientist, her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. "You should go to bed."

"But I want to stay with Jumba," Lilo protested. "He's still sick."

"I know, Lilo." Nani knelt beside her younger sibling, placing a hand on her back. "But Jumba needs his rest, and so do you. We can't have you up all night with him just because he isn't feeling well."

"Stitch gets to stay with him," Lilo pouted, pointing at the furry mass curled up on the pillow. "And if Stitch stays, then I'm staying too." Despite her weariness, the little girl crossed her arms over her chest, determined to stay with Jumba to make sure he was alright.

Nani sighed, looking back at Jumba's sleeping form. The scientist had already gone to sleep not long after Pleakley administered the first dose of medication. "Okay, but just for tonight," she conceded. "We need to make sure everyone gets their rest, okay?"

A smile blossoming on her tired features, Lilo crawled into Jumba's bed, snuggling up beside him and his creation. Stitch appeared to have fallen asleep as well, though he lifted an ear when Lilo joined them, hearing the bedsprings creak as she drew near. He remained alert, though his eyes were closed, listening to Nani and Pleakley's quiet voices at Jumba's bedside, until eventually his ear folded back and he began to doze.

"I'll stay with him tonight," Pleakly said, the pair conversing in hushed tones. "His health shouldn't decline any further now that we've started treatment, but that cough is still a concern."

Their voices slowly faded into the quiet recesses of the night, with Pleakley carefully monitoring Jumba's breathing as he slept. For the most part, the rest of the night passed without incident. Jumba managed to sleep for approximately an hour before waking up to another coughing episode, his clothing damp with perspiration.

When he awoke, Pleakley was right there beside him, holding out a lukewarm mug of lavender and chamomile tea with honey. "According to the human practice of herbal remedies, this blend is said to be particularly soothing for coughs and sore throats," he stated, offering the mug to his ailing friend.

Jumba eyed the mug warily, his throat burning with each ragged exhalation of breath. He lifted the mug from Pleakley's grasp, making a face as he inhaled the sickly sweet aroma. Nothing really appealed to him right now. But if it would help his sore throat, Jumba would drink the tea.

He soon discovered that the tea had other soothing properties, the desire to sleep overwhelming his senses. Distantly he was aware of Pleakley taking the empty mug and setting it aside on the nightstand, speaking softly about herbal remedies they could try in the morning. Only Jumba wasn't really listening. He was too tired to focus, nestled between the warmth of Lilo and Stitch, who had curled up on either side of the bed.

Despite his illness and exhaustion, it brought a small measure of comfort having them close by. The little girl had nestled up against his chest, while Stitch had chosen a spot near the foot of the bed, his chin resting atop Jumba's feet as he slept. Every now and then Stitch would shift in his sleep, the weight of his presence offering some semblance of peace that helped soothe the ailing scientist back into the arms of slumber.

As the hours passed in silence, Jumba's dreams slowly began to shift and change. He found himself alone in a maze of steel corridors, lost in the vast depths of outer space. The stars had gone out, the sun and its orbiting planets were no more, creating an endless void that stretched on into infinity. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but dusty corners and bare walls, serving as a reminder of his isolation and loneliness.

Moving closer to one of the round portals set high in the wall, Jumba pressed his palm against the glass, gazing out into the blackness that filled the void. His own voice echoed in his mind, memories of the confrontation with Stitch when he told him that he could never belong, that he didn't have a family. He had practically rubbed it in his face, acknowledging Stitch's decision to choose Lilo at the shelter, simply for his own protection.

"I am not having family either," Jumba whispered, his breath fogging the surface of the glass. "Jumba is trying to create family out of nothing. And now..." His voice trailed off into silence, lowering his head and slowly walking away.

He walked the endless halls for what felt like an eternity, each window reflecting images from his past. He saw himself in his laboratory; he felt the rush of creation that drove him to push the boundaries of science until he forgot why he had ventured down this path in the first place, losing himself in the process. He didn't even recognize himself anymore, staring at the flickering images like scenes playing out on a movie screen.

Was this really what he had become? He didn't even sound the same; his voice had been altered beyond recognition. Deep down inside, he knew that this was wrong. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone horribly wrong, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Yet amidst the chaos of his past, there existed a new thread woven through the fabric of his dreams: the soft whispers of a little girl's voice, the sound of the waves pulsing against the shore, and the comforting warmth of a blue alien creature that, against all odds, had come to mean something to him.

As he continued his path down the lonely corridor, the images on the glass shifted and changed, displaying moments he shared with his new family. Moments filled with laughter at Pleakley's failed attempt at cooking, tears that had been shed when Lilo was bullied by the girls in hula class, and the simple warmth of a family that had been there all along, waiting for Jumba to embrace what he had been given.

He recalled the gentle squeeze of Lilo's hand, so small compared to his own. He remembered the way it felt when Stitch's fur brushed against his cheek, the steady beat of a heart that had grown to care for him despite his imperfections. The warmth and the sensation, so real in his dreams, brought tears to his eyes, wondering if he had fallen too far to reclaim what he had foolishly thrown away.

His shoulders sank, heaving with each broken sob that escaped his lips. This wasn't who he was supposed to be. Lowering his head, Jumba slumped against the window frame, the portal reflecting back at him his past mistakes. Through his anger and his tears, he forced himself to watch, reliving the moment from his past where he had trapped Pleakley in the laundry room. He could have done worse, but still... it didn't feel right. This was his family. These were his friends.

Pleakley had been nothing but kind to him during the time they were together, asking questions and trying to get to know him better. Like a friend. Because that's what friends do, isn't it? Sure, they had their moments. Jumba knew exactly what he was doing when he switched off Pleakley's cloning device in front of that human with the shaved ice. It had been hilarious, seeing his reaction, hearing him scream like some sort of adolescent Earth female. And yet despite everything he had put him through, Pleakley was now offering him tea and giving him medicine to combat the infection.

With trembling hands, Jumba wiped away the tears. His fingers curled into a fist, his massive frame shaking with barely suppressed rage. The images before him played out on an infinite loop, forcing him to relive his mistakes, over and over, until finally he unleashed a tremendous roar, shattering the glass with a single blow. The glass cut deep into his thick hide, drops of indigo staining the walls, spilling onto the floor. It was only supposed to be a dream, but the pain he felt was real. Not in his torn flesh but in his aching heart. This wasn't how you were supposed to treat your family.

The pain had barely registered in his mind when the shards of broken glass were sucked out into the vacuum of space, the intense pressure threatening to drag him out as well. In his panic, Jumba gripped the edges of the portal with his bleeding hands, screaming into the void. No, no, not this again! It couldn't be happening again!

But that's how it worked. You relive your mistakes until you either learn from them or they continue to repeat in an endless cycle of self-destructive chaos.

Chapter Text

As the minutes stretched into hours, the fading remnants of the night were gradually eclipsed by the morning sun, the air outside warming slightly. The fan continuously whirred in the corner, helping to cool the room while Jumba slept.

In time, the sliver of sunlight that slipped through the curtains lengthened across his sleeping form, his creation dozing peacefully at his feet. Lilo had been allowed to sleep in as well, the weekend providing a welcome relief from her daily activities at school. She was the first to wake up and was now sitting next to Stitch at the foot of the bed, her feet dangling over the edge of the mattress.

"So when do you think he's gonna wake up?" she asked, the breeze from the fan playfully tugging on her hair. "He's been sleeping ever since Pleakley gave him that medicine."

Stitch shrugged, looking up from his creator.

"He's going to need a lot of sleep in order to get better," said Pleakley, his antenna drooping with fatigue. He lifted a hand, briefly covering his mouth as he yawned. "I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps through half the day after everything he's been through. Though we are going to have to feed him eventually. And he needs something more substantial than just liquids."

"What about giving him medicine? Is he going to need more of that soon too?" Lilo asked, tilting her head as she looked up at Pleakley. Beside her, Stitch lifted his foot and was using it to scratch behind his left ear. He then stretched and moved towards the pillow, nuzzling Jumba's cheek in the early morning sunlight.

"Ah, the innocent curiosity of children." Pleakley chuckled, seemingly pleased with her desire to ask questions and learn. He gave her a pat on the head, as though he were praising a puppy for good behavior. "Administering medication is a fairly simple process. We're going to start with a two-week course of antiparasitic treatments. The transdermal patch will have to be changed twice weekly, approximately every three to four days."

"I wish it was like that for us too," Lilo said, looking over at Jumba's sleeping form. "We have to drink yucky medicine that's supposed to taste like bubblegum. Only it doesn't taste good at all. It tastes like butt and fruity jello spit up."

Stitch stirred beside his creator, catching snippets of their conversation. "Ih, iky iky jugaar," he muttered, his voice still a bit groggy as he was coming out of sleep.

Pleakley grimaced at the little girl's description of Earth medicine. "Well, that doesn't sound very appealing." He then turned his singular eye towards the bed as Jumba shifted beneath the covers. "Oh, I think he's waking up. Jumba, can you hear me? Are you feeling any better this morning?"

All eyes turned towards the scientist, patiently waiting for a response. What they received was nothing more than a ragged whisper, followed by a feeble cough as Jumba attempted to clear his throat.

"How do you think I am feeling?" he said, his voice grating against the raw edges of his throat. He rolled over in bed, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. "Am miserable."

"Perhaps you would feel better if we got some nourishment in your system," Pleakley suggested. "Your body needs nutrients in order to fight off the infection."

Jumba shook his head, a hand coming up to massage his throat. He didn't want to speak if he didn't have to, let alone force himself to partake of the customary practice of chewing and swallowing. It was absurd, not to mention extremely painful, considering his current situation.

"I think his throat hurts," Lilo said, reading Jumba's nonverbal cues. "We should get him something cold, like ice cream or a smoothie."

Pleakley considered him for a moment, thoughtfully stroking his chin with a long, slender finger. "Jumba, if I may?" he politely asked, taking a tentative step towards the bed. "Could I... could I take a look at your throat?"

Sinking into his pillows with a weary sigh, the scientist rolled his eyes and bit back a curse, wanting nothing more than to be left alone so he could sleep. Maybe he was right about this being some form of punishment for his misdeeds, since he now had this walking noodle serving as his own personal nurse. He was surprised Pleakley hadn't dressed the part as well. And yet there was a small part of him that knew he should be grateful for their care and attention, even though his spindly companion could be a bit irritating at times.

"You are being annoyingly persistent, my little one-eyed one," Jumba grumbled, reaching up and adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead. After a moment of hesitation, he opened his mouth, allowing Pleakley to lean in with a small flashlight in hand.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Lilo crawled across the mattress on her hands and knees, moving closer so she could join Pleakley in his examination. "Whoa, alien tonsils!" she said, her eyes widening at the sight.

"Lilo, I hardly think that's appropriate," Pleakley gently admonished, giving her a sideways glance that spoke volumes of his disapproval.

Undaunted by Pleakley's warning, Lilo continued her examination. "Your throat looks... different," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Is it supposed to be all blue and splotchy?"

"Actually no. It's not supposed to look like that." Pleakley lowered the flashlight, switching it off with a click. "His throat is supposed to be a healthy shade of purple, not indigo, which is how it looks when the tissues are inflamed."

"Then we need to help him get better!" She turned to Stitch, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, Stitch. I know just the thing that'll make Jumba's throat feel better." She hopped off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor, and ran out the door with Stitch following close behind.

"All I am wanting is to get some pieces of quiet," Jumba said, his voice cracking in midsentence. "And then... little girl, with the talking and the play pretend doctor and... and..." His voice gave out, the silence abruptly giving way to another episode of harsh coughing and wheezing.

"Easy now. You need to calm yourself and breathe, Jumba. Don't talk, just breathe." Placing a hand on Jumba's shoulder, Pleakley tried patting and rubbing in small, soothing circles to help ease him through the discomfort. "That's it, slow and steady now. Keep breathing."

His eyes watering from the pain, Jumba looked up at his companion, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Why...?" he managed between wet, hacking coughs. Though he was clearly suffering, there remained a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"Because you need to let us take care of you," Pleakley calmly stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. The one-eyed alien withdrew a floral handkerchief from the pocket of his dress, using it to dab at the ruddy streaks of perspiration that trickled down the side of Jumba's face. "Now, let's get you settled so you can rest. Oh, and I want to check your temperature again before Lilo and Stitch return with their frozen treats."

.oOo.

When Lilo and Stitch entered the room several minutes later, Jumba was propped up on a mound of pillows, a fresh washcloth neatly draped across his forehead. His eyes were closed, with Pleakley close by studying the readout on the thermometer.

"It's still a bit high," he announced, frowning at the numbers. "Though it's not as bad as it was when he collapsed yesterday." He sank onto the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged as he watched Lilo approach the ailing scientist, her small hands holding a glass filled with a thick, frosty liquid.

"Jumba," she said, offering him a chilled beverage. "Look what we made for you."

His eyes fluttered open, looking down at her with curiosity. The brightly colored pieces of fruit made the smoothie look like a tiny edible rainbow. "What is this?" Jumba asked, his voice still a bit rough from his recent coughing episode.

Lilo's smile widened, holding out the colorful concoction. "It's a fruit smoothie. It's made with frozen fruit, ice, and a little bit of juice. It's really good for when your throat hurts."

The scientist eyed the concoction warily. The thought of consuming cold foods for pain relief was entirely foreign, but he was willing to give it a try. He sat up slowly, feeling the mattress shift beneath his weight. He then leaned over and carefully lifted the glass from her hands.

The first sip was a shock to his system, wincing as the cold liquid made contact with the back of his throat. Though it was not unpleasant, the combination of sweet, fruity flavors blending with the cold took a moment to get used to. After taking a moment to adjust to these newly discovered textures and flavors, Jumba took another sip, this time noticing a cool, soothing sensation as he forced himself to swallow. The next thing they knew, he was leaning back against the pillows, his eyes closed in contentment as he continued to slowly sip the sweetened liquid through a straw.

Lilo beamed with pride, glancing over at Pleakley, who was now wearing a look of amusement. "See? He likes it," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "We also found some cough drops and these ginger candies Nani uses when her stomach feels icky."

Jumba responded with a nod, taking another sip. The process of swallowing food was still a bit unusual, but the sweetness and the way it soothed his throat made it worth it. "Da, it's good," he admitted, his words coming out a little easier.

Lilo's smile brightened, and she climbed onto the bed, sitting between Jumba and Pleakley with her own glass of the frosty beverage. "See, Jumba? We'll help you get better," she said, her voice filled with the same confidence that Jumba had in his own scientific prowess.

Stitch, who'd been watching from his place on the rug, climbed up the side of the bed to join the others, his curiosity piqued. "Stitch want taste," he said, holding out his hand for the glass. Lilo giggled, handing it to him. He took a cautious sip, his face scrunching up at the cold. "Ack!" he spluttered, but then took another sip, his expression relaxing into something resembling enjoyment.

There was a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips as Jumba leaned against the pillows, watching as his creation slurped down the rest of the smoothie. "Good!" Stitch joyfully exclaimed, his tail wagging. "More! Stitch want more!"

"Don't worry," Lilo said, taking the empty glass from his paws. "There'll be lots more where that came from." She smiled at Jumba just as he was finishing the last of his smoothie. "We'll keep making them so you can get better. But we might need some help cleaning the kitchen before Nani gets home from work."

"Let me guess. Stitch tried mulching an assortment of Earth produce in the ceiling fan?" Pleakley asked, already fearing the little girl's answer.

"No, not this time." Lilo shook her head. "He just forgot to put the lid on the blender."

Pleakley sighed. "I'll get the mop."

.oOo.

After he finished cleaning the kitchen, Pleakley decided to see if there was more he could do to help his ailing friend. Inspired by Lilo's show of kindness, he ventured into the bathroom and began exploring the medicine cabinet, looking for something that could possibly alleviate Jumba's symptoms.

"I'll have to be mindful of potential drug interactions," he muttered, examining a small jar that contained a thick, creamy substance. "His body might react poorly to substances found on Earth, so we'll need something natural. Less chance of causing unwanted reactions."

He recoiled at the scent of menthol and eucalyptus that wafted from the jar, replacing the lid and setting it aside on the counter. "I can't imagine that being of any use. But this..." He picked up a bottle of calamine lotion, taking a moment to carefully read the instructions on the label. "Now this seems promising."

Before long, Pleakley had gathered an assortment of items, carrying them up the stairs to their shared bedroom. He set everything on the nightstand, next to the baggie of cough drops and ginger lozenges Lilo had swiped from her sister's purse.

"Alright, Jumba, let's get you on the path to healing." His first choice was the bottle of calamine lotion, which drew Lilo's attention as she looked up from her coloring book beside the bed. "It says it's supposed to ease itching and inflammation associated with rashes. It won't cure anything, but it should at least provide relief from your symptoms. I also found this smelly substance that appears to resemble a petroleum-based pine forest," he said, unscrewing the lid and allowing Jumba to take a sniff. The scent was particularly sharp, though it did seem to ease his breathing difficulties after taking a whiff of the powerful fragrance.

"It's a good start, but there's something missing." Lilo turned to Stitch with a mischievous grin on her face, both of them sharing the same idea. The furry experiment nodded and scurried out of the room, where they could hear him rummaging through Nani's closet.

One by one, he tossed various garments over his shoulder, letting them land where they may on the floor. "Ooh, ikata!" Stitch exclaimed, holding up a lacy pink dress and a pink and white striped shirt.

His claws scraping against the floor, Stitch ran down the hall on all fours, the garments held in his jaws. When he reached the one-eyed alien, he held up the clothes he'd found, prancing and waving them excitedly.

Pleakley's enthusiasm was apparent, his eye widening as a smile spread across his face. "What's this?" he asked, reaching for the lacy dress and holding it up to check the size against his lean figure. "Jumba, look! Your little monster brought me the perfect clothing I need to put together a nurse's outfit."

Jumba's mouth dropped open, staring at the sight of Pleakley with his new dress. Seeing the look on his face sent Stitch into a fit of high-pitched cackling, falling over onto his back with his little feet waving in the air.

"Is not funny!" Jumba snapped, raising his voice and immediately regretting it. Wincing and holding his throat, he glared at Stitch before turning back to Pleakley, his voice coming out in the form of a furious whisper. "I already said I am not needing babysitter! Same for nursemaid. Jumba is not needing since he was infant."

"Oh, come now," Pleakley crooned, taking a moment to admire his colorful new outfit. He ducked behind the changing screen, tossing his floral dress over the top and slipping into his new clothes. "Look at yourself, Jumba. You aren't exactly the picture of health, you know."

When the one-eyed alien reappeared, he was wearing his lovely new dress over top of the pink and white shirt, the warm hues perfectly highlighting his pale green skin tone. He sashayed across the floor to uproarious applause from Jumba's creation, who found the situation highly amusing.

"Now I am really being sick," Jumba groaned, slumping against the pillows. He wasn't sure if he could tolerate Pleakley playing nurse for two weeks. It was downright humiliating, being treated like a helpless child when he was the most brilliant scientist in all the galaxy. But considering the alternative, maybe, just maybe, Jumba would learn to behave himself and be a good patient for nurse Pleakley.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Jumba's condition gradually began to improve, though the fever and fatigue clung to him like a second skin, confining him to bed as his body struggled to fight off the infection.

Ever the diligent caretaker, Pleakley took over the role of nursing his friend back to health. He remained a constant presence, bringing him bowls of soup and warm mugs of tea, while Lilo continued to read to him and brought him more of her fruit smoothies to soothe his throat. Stitch did what he could, offering comfort in the form of quiet companionship while Pleakley bustled around the room in his nurse outfit.

The first few days were rough, with Jumba waking often during the night, his chest tight, struggling to breathe. With Stitch's help, Pleakley would lift Jumba into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress, the cool air from the fan blowing directly across his face. It was Pleakley's hope that this would force more air into his lungs. And while it did seem to offer some relief, the ailing scientist would still experience frequent coughing episodes and shortness of breath.

Night after night Pleakley and Stitch would sit up with him, trying to cool his raging fever, hoping to ease his suffering in any way they could. And, just as Pleakley had predicted, his symptoms started showing signs of improvement within the first forty-eight hours after beginning treatment. It started small, the tightness in his chest easing slightly, making it easier to take full, deep breaths. Within a couple days his fever started going down. And yet it was clear that Jumba was still miserable, still fighting for breath in the middle of the night.

Not knowing what else to do, Pleakley delved deeper into his Earth studies. He began researching common medical practices and natural remedies, hoping to find any additional methods that might aid in bolstering Jumba's immune system. Eventually, his research led to the discovery of natural immune-boosting powders and drinks, fortified with a variety of vitamins and minerals.

"These are similar to the nutritional patches Kweltikwans use on their home planet," said Pleakley, excited to have made a new discovery. He waved the book under Nani's nose as she was attempting to wash the dishes, the corner of the pages dipping into the suds that filled the sink. "It's a similar concentration of nutrients in powdered form, designed to be consumed when mixed with water. Do we have anything like this?" He pointed to the image in the book, his expression hopeful.

Nani sighed, gently pushing his book away from the towering stack of dishes in the sink. "Pleakley, that's a nutritional supplement. It's not the same as giving someone medicine."

"With all due respect, Nani, if we take into consideration Jumba's weakened state, as well as his refusal to consume anything that isn't in liquid form, I'm quite certain this will be beneficial," Pleakley insisted, his tone taking on that air of superiority he often used when discussing his knowledge of Earth topics. 

"In the cupboard, under the bathroom sink." Nani pointed towards the bathroom, located down the hall from the kitchen. She knew better than to argue with Pleakley's self-proclaimed expertise.

"Thank you kindly," he said, tipping his nurse's cap before turning and heading out the door.

"And when am I going to get my dress back?" Nani called after him. But Pleakley wasn't listening. He was already digging through the cupboard in search of the immunity packets.

When he managed to locate the box under the sink, the resulting brew was less than appealing to the ailing scientist, who wrinkled his nose at the potent smell of citrus wafting from the fizzy beverage.

"Tell me something," Jumba said, his voice still hoarse. He lifted the glass, carefully studying its contents. "How is it this species is managing to survive with such primitive medical care and limited nutritional opinions?"

"Uhm, well, I don't really understand it either," Pleakley admitted. "It's a miracle they've survived for as long as they have. Which is what makes their history truly fascinating, once you realize that they shouldn't have made it past the infancy of their race."

"Indeed." Tilting back his drink, Jumba held his nose and tried to down as much of the orange liquid as he could. However, he only managed to finish half of it before the taste overwhelmed his senses, causing him to gag and spit the remaining liquid into a handful of tissues. "Here! Take it." Jumba held out the glass for his companion, looking for all the world like he had just taken a bite out of a particularly sour lemon. "Is repulsive... like bile and citrus in unsanitary waste receptacle."

Well, it was worth a try. Pleakley always had his best interests at heart, even though Jumba wasn't always the most cooperative patient at times.

"It says on the box to add more water if the flavor is too strong." Pleakley lifted the glass, taking a tentative sniff. "Do you want to try watering it down, Jumba? Maybe we could separate it into two smaller doses per day instead of one."

There was a pause as Jumba abruptly sat up in bed, both hands clamped over his mouth. His senses overcome by a wave of nausea and dizziness, the room dipped and spun, his stomach protesting against his decision to sample Pleakley's experimental beverage.

Pleakley took a step back, glancing at the bucket that had been placed beside the bed. "Jumba? You, uh, don't look so good." He chuckled nervously, moving further away from the bed. "Are you—"

He never got to finish his sentence. Instead, he was forced to seize the bucket, thrusting it in front of his companion as Jumba's stomach heaved forcefully, expelling everything he had consumed in the past twelve hours.

"On second thought, maybe it would be better if we let your stomach rest for a while." Pleakley reached for one of the spare washcloths, moistening it with water from the bowl on the nightstand before wiping the trickle of vomit that ran down Jumba's chin. "Your body isn't used to the physical act of eating and processing food anyway. So now probably isn't the best time to start trying new things."

His vision blurring, Jumba leaned forward, his arms curling around his midsection. He hated being seen like this. The brilliant scientist, Dr. Jumba Jookiba, his vulnerabilities laid bare for all the world to see. He couldn't stop shaking, his nostrils burning with the acrid stench of vomit. And yet Pleakley refused to abandon him, reaching for a fresh washcloth and wiping the sweat from his fevered brow.

"Jumba I'm... I'm sorry." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his antenna drooping. "I was only trying to help. But I ended up making it worse, didn't I?"

 "No, Pleakley," Jumba managed between labored breaths. "You is not doing anything wrong." A feeble cough worked its way through the infestation in his lungs, his chest aching with every breath. "Is just... very sick."

In the silence that followed, Pleakley picked up the soiled washcloths, holding them between his thumb and forefinger like he was carrying a loaded diaper. Jumba couldn't help chuckling at the look of absolute revulsion that took shape on his face, the sound hoarse and wheezing.

"I did not think one-eyed noodle nursemaid could be friend to someone like me," he said, watching as Pleakley propelled himself out of the room on his three legs, heading for the laundry basket in the hall. 

For a while all was silent, until the gentle padding of Pleakley's footsteps resurfaced outside their bedroom door.

"Friends?" Pleakley's singular eye appeared in the doorway, blinking at him. "I never had any qualms about working with you. Now, I'll admit they don't call on me to work with prisoners as often as they do... oh, let's say the captain of the Galactic Federation.I assume it has something to do with the fact that I'm usually more lenient." He chuckled, sounding rather anxious. "I mean really, you should have seen the other guy. He's over eight feet tall and looks like a beached whale. It's a lot like playing good cop, bad cop, you know?"

"And your point is...?" Jumba queried, leaning over and reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. 

Pleakley entered the room, taking a seat beside him on the bed. "The point is I was willing to work with you because I believe in giving everyone a chance. And while I still believe that what you were doing is morally wrong, look at where it's brought us. We're part of a family now. And I'm in the perfect position to study the effects of bonding between alien and human subjects for my next report," he added, his voice rising with a hint of excitement. "It's quite fascinating!"

Jumba, meanwhile, had taken the glass and was rinsing his mouth with water. There was still the lingering taste of bile and citrus, thanks to Pleakley's ungodly experiment with natural remedies. He swished the water in his mouth, spitting the liquid into the bucket that sat between his feet. "This nothing but field trip for you," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Pleakley nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "You could say something like that."

"You're loving it, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, I am." Pleakley nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm. "And look at how much Stitch has progressed since we got here. You literally created a living, breathing weapon of mass destruction. It goes against his nature to show kindness and compassion towards others. So if he can grow and learn from his mistakes, then maybe there's a chance you can too."

Pleakley was smiling now. Proof that against all odds, there was still hope for their broken family. 

Taken aback by his cheerful response, Jumba paused with the glass of water halfway to his lips. Slowly, he lowered the glass, letting his gaze sink to the floor. There were no words for this. There was only the sour taste lingering on his tongue and the heat that raged inside his chest, which could only be extinguished by the love of family working together to help keep him alive. 

In that moment, Jumba felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the infection. He tried to swallow, his throat constricting at the thought of what he had gained since being exiled on Earth. This was his family, this was his home, with people who truly loved and cared about him.

"Come on." Pleakley placed a hand on his back, his touch warm and comforting. "You've been through enough today. Let's get you settled so you can rest."

And just like that, they eased back into the routine that had become commonplace since Jumba got sick. Pleakley helped him get settled in bed, checking the settings on the fan and making sure the pitcher on the nightstand had plenty of fresh water. He had just finished adjusting the blankets when something stirred beneath the covers.

"Stitch!" Pleakley exclaimed, the furry alien poking his head out from underneath Jumba's blanket. "How long have you been under there?"

Jumba's creation responded with a yawn. "Stitch sleep," he muttered, his voice low and groggy. He then wriggled out from under the blankets, crawling onto Jumba's chest and snuggling up close.

Blinking slowly, Stitch yawned and stretched a paw towards him, his toes making contact with Jumba's cheek. His presence was a comforting weight, helping to reinforce Pleakley's earlier statement about finding their family and giving him a second chance.

Looking down at his creation, Jumba hesitated slightly before wrapping his arms around him, cradling Stitch against his chest like an infant. Stitch responded by nuzzling his creator's cheek, closing his eyes, and purring in contentment. Jumba was so unused to being loved, a stranger to the warmth and comfort of family. And yet somehow he knew that this was where he belonged. 

 "Jumba is happy here," he murmured, feeling Stitch's ear brush against the side of his face. Jumba patted his back awkwardly, unaccustomed to such basic acts of kindness, but the warmth of his affection was undeniable. "Thank you for keeping me company, 626. You have been good little experiment."

He held Stitch against his chest, just as he had done when the creature drew his first breath. It felt like so long ago since he had witnessed the birth of creation—so many that came before, but none like him afterwards. Stitch was truly unique, not just another genetic experiment but something more, something he had grown to love, and together with Lilo, Nani, and Pleakley, they were a family. 

Chapter Text

The days continued to pass, each one a little easier than the last. On the fifth day, Jumba awoke to find that he was no longer shivering and sweating. The realization came slowly, his eyes opening to the feeling of a gentle breeze from the window. The room felt cooler, more comfortable than it had in days, though he was still coated in a layer of perspiration leftover from the fever burning itself out during the night.

With a grunt of exertion, he managed to force himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the mound of pillows on the bed. His body felt lighter, his senses rejuvenated now that the fever had passed. This was later confirmed by Pleakley during his daily checkup, when he announced that Jumba's temperature had returned to normal.

"You know, I think I'm getting pretty good at this," said Pleakley, taking a moment to smooth out the creases in his dress. "Maybe I could be the family caretaker. It would certainly provide some fascinating information for my studies."

Lilo and Stitch exchanged a look, the blue alien taking a few steps back so as to distance himself from their self-appointed nurse. "Naga," Stitch said, shaking his head and retreating under the desk. "We good, we good."

"Please to be getting on with it," said Jumba, not bothering to hide a grumble of annoyance. 

"Patience, Jumba." Pleakley's fingers curled around his wrist, pressing against the pulse in his veins. "Remember, if you don't behave yourself, you won't be getting a lollipop when we're finished." 

Hearing this made Lilo laugh, and even Stitch snickered a little from under the desk. "Haka taba," he muttered, placing a paw over his mouth to stifle a fit of giggles.

 "Alright, that's enough from the both of you," Pleakley gently scolded. He lifted his fingers from Jumba's wrist, reaching for a notebook where he'd been keeping track of his friend's progress. "Well, it looks like we have some good news today. Your temperature is in the normal range at ninety-six point eight, and your heart rate is holding steady. Though I noticed you're still wheezing quite a bit, but that should continue to improve with time."

His expression softening, Jumba glanced at his surroundings while Pleakley was writing down his findings. The walls of their shared bedroom were adorned with Lilo's drawings, a pile of Stitch's toys was heaped up in one corner, and the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand had been refreshed with a new batch of delicate blossoms. Though it irked him to be seen like this, there was at least some measure of comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone.

Jumba situated himself more comfortably against the pillows, his shoulders sinking as the tension drained from his limbs. He would never admit it, but the fear of dying on this strange planet so far away from home had been steadily gnawing at the back of his mind. He knew his fate could have been worse, either imprisoned for his crimes or dead without his family's care and attention. He knew he should be grateful, and so he reminded himself to have some patience as Pleakley prepared for the next step in his examination.

.oOo.

The checkups continued as one day followed the next, and little by little Jumba found his place amongst their family. He got better at cooperating with Pleakley, who taught him breathing exercises to ease the tightness in his chest. Lilo's gentle touch and soothing lullabies helped him sleep through the night, and Stitch's boundless energy kept him entertained while he was confined to bed.

Over time, this household with its unique blend of inhabitants was beginning to feel more like home. Waking to the distant laughter of Lilo and Stitch playing together in the hall had become a regular part of his morning routine. It was familiar now, a comforting rhythm of daily activities that reminded him of their love and attention. This cycle continued as the sun sank below the horizon, the stars rising once again as another day came to a close. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the sleeping faces of Jumba and his creation, with Lilo nestled in between. 

The late hours of the night passed in silence, with Jumba waking briefly when a tickle in his throat built into another coughing episode. Eventually his breathing evened out, and he tried settling down between his companions once more. 

The silence resumed, blending with the whispers of the ocean against the shore. It was a type of serenity that Jumba had never truly known before, and it surprised him how much he found himself craving the calm that came at the end of the day. The simple act of being there, in that room, with those two individuals who saw him not as a monster or as something to be feared or hated, but as someone who was part of their family, was both humbling and healing. He was almost asleep when Lilo's voice cut across the stillness of the night.

"Jumba, what was it like before?"

He looked down at her, her question echoing in his mind. "Before what?" Jumba asked, playing for time.

"Before you came here," she clarified, her eyes searching his in the pale moonlight. "When you were still doing experiments."

Jumba sighed, feeling the weight of his past heavy on his shoulders. "It was cold," he admitted after a moment. "Lonely. Jumba had only his work, his experiments. There was a time... I remember the year was coming to a close. And then..." His gaze drifted towards the window, the distant stars shining bright overhead. "Jumba was losing track of time in isolation, losing himself in his work. It was like waking up from big sleep, only to discover three months had passed without my realizing."

Lilo looked up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. "But why did you make those things, Jumba?"

Jumba looked up at the ceiling, considering her question. "Jumba is making mistakes," he admitted. "Was driven by desire for knowledge and power. Did not understand importance of family and love." He looked over at Stitch, who met his gaze with a hint of understanding. "But now, with this... sem'ja... Jumba is learning."

Stitch nodded solemnly, his antennae lowering. "Stitch sorry, too. Stitch not know better. We learn now, yeah."

"Da, we all learn... together as family." Jumba put his arm around Stitch, a flicker of something akin to pride shining in his eyes. Despite his origins as a weapon of chaos, Stitch had grown so much in the time they'd spent on Earth. Seeing him now, this brutal entity turned loving family member, sparked a feeling of kinship with his creation, a shared history of mistakes, and the chance for redemption. "We cannot change the past, but we can make a better future," he murmured, scratching the furry alien behind his ear.

Stitch leaned into his touch, his eyes closing briefly. A gentle purr issued from the back of his throat, his tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth. This was their home now, a place where they could have a new beginning.

Lilo smiled, her hand reaching out to find Jumba's in the dark. "We're family now. And families take care of each other. We're going to help you get better too, and then we can all go to the beach when you're well again." 

 "Thank you. You are... how do you say... good influence, little girl."

"You're good for us too," Lilo said, her grip tightening around Jumba's hand. "You're like a... a giant teddy bear, but smarter."

Jumba couldn't help chuckling at her comparison, the sound a bit raspy from his chronic cough. "Giant teddy bear," he echoed, his heart swelling with affection. "I like that. Is much better than when you is calling me a hairy potato."

Lilo giggled. "Yeah, you're definitely more like a teddy bear now," she said, resting her head against Jumba's shoulder. "You aren't really hairy anyway. It's more like..." She paused, taking a moment to think. "More like peach fuzz."

Stitch tilted his head to the side, looking up at his creator with curiosity. "Teddy bear?" he repeated, carefully sounding out the words. "Teddy bear good," he said, his voice a mix of wonder and acceptance. Standing on his hind legs, Stitch wrapped his arms around his creator, his blue fur tickling Jumba's nose. In their eyes, Jumba wasn't the monster he used to be. He was becoming something softer, more approachable.

"Look, Jumba's smiling!" Lilo exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Our teddy bear is happy."

Though the sound was hoarse, Jumba sank into the pillows on his back, laughing as his creation licked his face like a cheerful puppy.It was a strange feeling, this warmth, but it's one that he was starting to get used to. 

"626, stopping please! Am not hairy produce!" Jumba wheezed, his laughter strained. His creation finally relented when Jumba appeared to choke, coughing and sitting up in bed as he struggled to catch his breath.

Stitch tumbled over backwards, landing on his bottom amid the nest of blankets. The next thing he knew, Pleakley had dropped down from the top bunk, landing on the mattress with a slight bounce. Both Lilo and Pleakley rushed to Jumba's side, the little girl patting him on the back while Pleakley hurried to refill the glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand.

"Here," he said urgently, pressing the glass into Jumba's hand. "You need to drink some of this. It'll help."

His breath coming in ragged gasps, Jumba managed to force a trickle of water past the irritated tissues of his throat. Though even this proved difficult, his throat closing up on him with each attempt to swallow. He hadn't been on this planet long enough to teach himself how to chew and swallow properly, a fact that Pleakley was slowly coming to realize the more he observed Jumba's awkward attempts at feeding himself. 

"Jumba," Pleakley said at length, placing a hand on his shoulder once it appeared the worst had passed. For a moment he quietly observed his friend, noting the way Jumba gagged when finishing the last of the water. "When was the last time you tried eating actual food before coming to Earth?"

The scientist responded with a weary sigh, handing him the empty glass and motioning for Pleakley to bring him some more water. "Was long time ago," he rasped, his eyes watering from the discomfort of trying to swallow. "Not since working with experiment 062. Always, Jumba is relying on nutrient absorption."

"Oh. Well, I suppose this could be a bigger issue than I thought." Pleakley looked down at the empty glass, then at Jumba, who was breathing easier but still fighting off a lingering tickle in his throat. Stitch seemed to notice his struggle as well, his ears wilting as he watched Pleakley refill the glass before handing it back to Jumba. 

It was all starting to make sense. For the most part, Jumba had been trying to avoid eating in front of the others, steering clear of the kitchen during meal times and preferring to eat in his room. That's where his discomfort began, the nausea and indigestion stemming from inadequate chewing. He couldn't even swallow half the meals they prepared for him, his gag reflex forcing up a majority of food that wasn't in liquid form. It didn't help that his species lacked proper teeth for chewing and biting food, turning mealtime into a very uncomfortable experience.

In time the constant hunger had taken its toll on his health. Jumba was growing weaker from a lack of proper nutrition, leaving his body more vulnerable to illness. His discomfort had also delayed getting a diagnosis, believing that a majority of his symptoms, such as nausea, indigestion, and stomach pain, were caused by not chewing properly. In truth, Jumba was practically starving by the time the infection took hold, which only made the situation worse when paired with his alien immune system that didn't know how to handle common ailments found on Earth. 

It had all come together in the perfect storm, causing his health to rapidly deteriorate during the first few weeks on Earth. And Jumba, in his stubborn refusal to accept help from his newfound family, had been suffering alone in silence.

"I think we're going to have to work on modifying your diet," said Pleakley, watching as Jumba took a tentative sip of water. "Maybe try some gentle exercises to strengthen your jaws so you can learn how to chew properly."

"You is realizing, of course, how humiliating this is for evil genius," said Jumba, glaring at his companion. He lifted a hand, wiping the liquid that dribbled past his chin. "I am creating many complex lifeforms, my intelligence surpassing entire civilizations throughout all of galaxy. And yet I am not even managing simple Earth foods without spitting up like baby."

Pleakley patted his shoulder, his tone sympathetic. "But it's not your fault, Jumba. Your species has advanced beyond what is generally considered normal on most planets, using those patches for daily nutrition. That isn't a downgrade. It's progress. You just need a little assistance in order to adapt to our new environment, that's all."

"You is making it sound so simple," the scientist grumbled, looking down at the glass of water in his hand. Of all the challenges he'd faced in life, this was the most humbling, forcing him to take a step down from atop his pedestal. He passed the glass back to Pleakley, lying down in the nest of blankets on the bed. In the silence that followed, Lilo crawled across the bed, sitting beside his massive form. 

"If Jumba can make those medicine stickies, why can't he make more stickies for food so he doesn't have to be hungry and sick all the time?" she asked, looking up at Pleakley as though he held the answers to all of her questions.

"Am not having enough materials," Jumba stated, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Would require more than I have access to, and for such a duration would not be sustainable long-term. Jumba is not, how you would say, of the seasonal poultry. But still many years to go. Very long-term project."

"Seasonal poultry?" Pleakley blinked and stared at him in confusion.

Lilo giggled. "I think he means spring chicken. But it'll be okay, Jumba," she said, turning her attention back to the ailing scientist. "We can make more of those smoothies you like. And Nani's got the best recipe for mashed potatoes."

Beneath the covers, Jumba shifted slightly, his shoulders sinking as the tension eased somewhat. He wasn't in the mood for further conversation, having already exhausted what little strength remained. 

"We should let him sleep," said Pleakley, to which Stitch responded with a yawn. "Tomorrow we can start working out a nutritional plan. Something simple, so it'll be easy for him to process."

Looking down at his creator, Stitch turned in a circle and bedded down next to Jumba, all while muttering apologies in his native tongue. Slowly, his tired eyes began to close, leaning in and gently nuzzling Jumba's side. The bedsheets rustled softly, and he felt the weight of his creator's hand ruffling the fur atop his head. A smile formed on his lips, and Stitch drifted off to sleep with Jumba holding him close once more.

Chapter Text

Ten days had gone by since Pleakley started treatment for Jumba's parasitic infection. With most of the symptoms either reduced or completely eliminated, they were now able to focus on helping him with his eating difficulties. And while most of the problem centered on actually chewing and swallowing solid foods, the textures and flavors made it worse, with certain substances triggering his gag reflex whenever he tried to swallow.

Pleakley entered their shared bedroom, his frilly nurse dress fluttering gracefully. "We need to get some proper nutrients in your system to keep your strength up," he said, keeping his tone light and cheerful. "Now, I know the smoothies were a success, so we'll start with those. I've made everything in small portions for sampling purposes, with Nani's assistance, of course. Because apparently she doesn't trust me in the kitchen." 

With a bit of effort, Jumba managed to push himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the pillows that had been stacked against the headboard. "What, no flowery napkins this time?" he queried, eyeing the variety of substances on the tray Pleakley was carrying.

"No, but I do have an assortment of bibs if you'd like to choose one." Pleakley's hand dipped into the pocket of his dress, pulling out a handful of colorful cloth bibs. "I'm especially fond of this one," he said, holding up a bib that sported a delightful floral pattern. "It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Perhaps next experiment will be specifically designed for strangling one-eyed nursemaid."

Pleakley hastily tucked the bibs back into his pocket. "It was just a suggestion," he said, chuckling nervously. He placed the tray on a miniature fold-out table beside the bed, offering Jumba a variety of foods to choose from. "Let's see, we've got the usual fruit smoothie, of course. Only this time it's made with a blend of frozen berries, coconut milk, and yogurt. You might do better with thickened liquids," he added, glancing up at Jumba. "Nani also suggested applesauce, a creamy cheddar and broccoli soup, and some mashed potatoes. Looks good, doesn't it?"

Jumba leaned over the bowl of soup, taking a moment to inhale the aroma before recoiling in disgust. "Looks like somebody is throwing up."

Once more Pleakley's anxious chuckle filled the room. He knew this wasn't going to be easy. And yet every step was progress that needed to be made for the sake of his friend's health and well-being.

He picked up the bowl containing a small serving of buttery mashed potatoes. "How about we start with this, Jumba?"

Jumba studied the contents of the bowl, giving in to his own scientific curiosity. "I thought little girl was saying potatoes is hairy. Like peach fuzz and green squishy kiwi fruit."

"Well, not exactly," Pleakley gently corrected, offering him a spoonful. Though instead of allowing the one-eyed alien to feed him, Jumba swiped the spoon out of Pleakley's hand, determined to feed himself without further assistance. Only it didn't go as well as they'd hoped. For as soon as the thickened substance made contact with the back of his throat, Jumba immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting against the urge to vomit.

"Easy now," Pleakley soothed, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "You need to relax your throat muscles so you can swallow."

With one hand still over his mouth, Jumba shook his head, expressing his lack of confidence. His eyes were watering from the discomfort of having this odd substance putting pressure on the back of his throat. Everything in his body told him this was wrong, the pressure intensifying as he made his first attempt to swallow. 

"Jumba." Pleakley snapped his fingers, trying to get Jumba's attention. "Follow the sound of my voice. Breathe in slowly through your nose. Take a deep breath and relax. Your body is fighting it, so you have to remind yourself that this is a perfectly natural process."

After several failed attempts, Jumba started to forcefully gag, his alien biology rejecting what it considered a foreign substance. He leaned forward in bed with both hands over his mouth, his elbows resting against his knees. He then tried taking another deep breath, then another, willing the spasms to subside. Finally, he managed to force the mouthful of food down his throat, gasping for air as soon as it had passed.

"Jumba?" Pleakley cautiously placed a hand on his back. "Are... are you alright?" 

The scientist inhaled deeply, shaking his head again, unable to speak. He started coughing, with Pleakley thumping him on the back to help clear his airway. "I do not think this is going to work," Jumba managed between harsh, ragged breaths.

"Nonsense. We just need to keep trying." Pleakley held out a glass of water, which Jumba gratefully accepted. "If the humans can learn how to do it, then you most certainly can. Though I'm going to have to let Nani know that you need separate meals. Softer things that don't require much chewing."

"How is it that you is always being so positive?" Jumba looked back at him, his eyelids drooping from exhaustion. He'd been fighting this for so long, enough that both his mind and body had grown weary from the struggle. 

"Because that's what friends do," Pleakley said, a smile gracing his features. "They believe in each other and are there to support them, no matter what."

"Jumba is making friends?" His tired eyes widened, and for a moment he thought he must have heard wrong. Maybe the infection had spread to his brain, and he was starting to hallucinate. 

"If you're willing to give me a chance, then yes. We can be friends." He held out his hand for the glass, which Jumba had emptied during his coughing episode. After a moment of silence had passed between them, Jumba handed him the glass.

"Thank you, Pleakley. This... means a lot to me."

The one-eyed alien set the glass on the tray, carefully refilling it before moving on to the bowl of applesauce. "Ah, think nothing of it, Jumba. Now, let's see if some of this will go down easier."

.oOo.

The next few days were a series of experiments in flavor, texture, and temperature. Nani and Pleakley worked together to create meals that were both nutritious and palatable for Jumba. They started with soups and smoothies, gradually moving to softer foods, such as pureed fruits and vegetables that had been cooked until they practically turned to mush. It was a humbling experience, but the scientist was determined to adapt.

Not everything he tried was a success. The smoothies went down easier than most of the foods he sampled, providing soothing relief for his throat while also filling his belly. He did fairly well with applesauce and most soups, but the thicker, heavier foods proved to be a challenge. Worst of all were the eggs. Pleakley tried offering Jumba soft foods, but the combination of scrambled eggs with spinach and goat cheese resulted in another round of vomiting.

It was frustrating, to say the least. Having sampled a variety of foods only succeeded in making Jumba hungrier. He wanted to eat but was afraid of choking or throwing up. He would settle on the couch, surrounded by pillows and blankets, watching as Nani worked in the kitchen. The smells were alluring, his belly craving nourishment. Then, one evening, Lilo approached him with a cookie, holding it out for him.

"It's chocolate chip. Would you like to try one? They're really soft and yummy."

Stitch rubbed his belly, drooling and licking his lips as he plopped down beside her on the floor. "Mmm, cookies." 

Jumba gazed longingly at the tasty morsel. He desperately wanted to eat something, anything at all. "Yes, Jumba will try."

He plucked the cookie from her hand, bringing it to his nose and taking a tentative sniff. The aroma was warm and fresh with just the right amount of sweetness. He didn't even care if it made him throw up. He had to eat something.

Slowly, he lifted the cookie and took a small bite, nibbling the edges of the warm, gooey treat. Not having any front teeth made it difficult to chew most foods, so Jumba had learned to try biting into things using the blunt canines he had on the sides of his mouth. From there, he could gradually mash the food, using the larger tusks in the back if necessary. 

He soon discovered that the cookie was soft and easy to chew. Apparently Nani's homemade treats were better than those petrified atrocities Pleakley had brought home from the store. The texture was surprisingly light and fluffy, and with a bit of effort, Jumba practically devoured his treat.

Lilo smiled at him, offering him another cookie, which he immediately snatched out of her grasp. It felt so good to savor the sweetness on his tongue, his mouth filling with saliva. He took his time, carefully nibbling and chewing. Though it required quite a bit of effort not to simply finish his snack in two bites.

"I knew that would work. Everyone likes cookies!" Lilo turned to Stitch, who was shoveling the rest of the cookies into his gaping maw. "We can help Jumba learn how to eat. We just need to make it fun."

When it was time for dinner, Lilo suggested adding a new twist to their evening meal to keep things interesting. She introduced Jumba to alphabet soup, explaining that he could spell words using the letters. It sounded simple enough, though Pleakley knew him well enough to know that Jumba would be tempted to spell out complex theories and equations.

"Is clever," said Jumba, watching the letters floating in the broth. He picked up a spoon, giving it a stir to see which letters came to the surface.

 Lilo joined in, arranging the letters into simple words like "cat" and "dog" on the surface of the broth. Despite the childish nature of it all, it made the process of eating a bit more enjoyable. Jumba managed to swallow a few spoonfuls without much difficulty, though it still felt strange against the back of his throat.

"Look, Jumba," Lilo said, pointing to a word she'd spelled out. "It says 'love'!"

Jumba couldn't help smiling at her creation, the warmth in her voice reaching through his discomfort. "Is very good, little girl," he replied, his voice still a bit rough. "But is lacking in numbers for proper mathematical formula."

"Maybe we could make it a game," Nani suggested, her eyes lighting up with inspiration. "You know, like a challenge. Every time Jumba swallows a spoonful of soup, he can guess what word Lilo's spelling out."

"And if he guesses right five times, he can have another cookie!" Lilo chimed in, eager to help Jumba through the learning process.

Jumba considered this for a moment; the prospect of turning something mundane into a challenging word game made it feel less like a chore. "Da," he agreed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We will make it entertaining. For treats," he added, poking at the floating letters with his spoon.

Together they spent the evening playing with letters in Jumba's soup, spelling out words and laughing as the letters floated in the broth. And for the first time in forever, Jumba felt his heart swell with genuine happiness, thanks to his new family. He soon found himself looking forward to meals, eager to see what new games Lilo would come up with. Over time, the act of swallowing became easier with each passing day, the muscles in his throat slowly strengthening.

The following days were filled with similar moments of shared laughter, joy, and patience as Jumba continued his recovery. Pleakley kept a close eye on his friend's progress, making sure that Jumba was eating properly and getting plenty of rest. Lilo, ever the cheerleader, continued to find new and inventive ways to keep Jumba's spirits up. Her energy was boundless, even when he was at his worst. 

At two weeks Jumba's condition was reassessed, his blood tests revealing trace amounts of the parasite still lingering in his system. For the most part, he'd done well in his recovery. His temperature had returned to normal, the pain had subsided, and his cough had become less frequent, his breathing easier. Jumba was on the mend, moving around the house and even venturing outside on occasion. Though he still had a mild rash and some lingering tightness in his chest, all things considered, he was feeling much better.

As a precaution, Pleakley decided to continue his treatment for another week in order to fully eliminate the parasites. With test results still showing positive, Jumba sighed and held out his arm for Pleakley to change the medicated patch. Of all the things he'd been through, at least the treatments were easy enough.

Once the patch had been changed, Jumba looked down at it for a moment, a question forming in the back of his mind. "Pleakley, is it always this difficult for to overcoming illnesses on Earth?" he asked, his English slipping due to fatigue.

 "No, not always," Pleakley said, taking a seat next to him on the couch. "Most of the time illnesses usually aren't this severe." He looked over at Lilo and Stitch, who had started a game of hide-and-seek, the couch cushions flying everywhere as Stitch tried to locate the little girl. "You've come a long way already, Jumba. The worst of it should be over now."

Jumba followed Pleakley's gaze, watching the chaos unfold in the living room. It was somehow comforting, seeing the two of them playing together. Despite his initial reservations about Stitch, he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride for what his creation had become.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves," Pleakley observed, his singular eye following their antics.

"Da," Jumba agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Is good to see."

Pleakley nodded, his gaze lingering on the pair for a moment before returning to his friend. "It's also good to see you getting better. Your health is improving, and your appetite is coming back. It probably won't be long until you and Stitch have a cookie-eating contest the next time Nani bakes us some treats."

"Heh, well, is because of Jumba's friends." There was more than gratitude in his voice. There was also a gentle warmth he didn't know he was capable of.

"Friends are important," said Pleakley, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Especially when you're so far away from home." He watched as Lilo emerged from behind the couch, giggling as Stitch jumped out and surprised her. The sound of their laughter filled the room, the playful pair rolling across the floor. "You know, maybe it's time we did something together as a family. Something to celebrate your recovery. It could be our first official family outing, if you're feeling up to it."

Stitch looked up from his place on the floor, sprawled out on his back, his tail wagging excitedly. "Jumba go beach!" 

Lilo clapped her hands together, beaming up at them. "Yeah, we could go to the beach and bury Jumba in the sand! That counts as a family outing, right?"

Pleakley considered this for a moment, stroking his chin with one of his long, slender fingers. "Burying Jumba in sand could indeed be a low-impact activity. And the vitamin D should aid in his recovery. But we'll have to make sure he doesn't overexert himself while we're out. And no burying anyone without their consent, young lady."

"I think I can manage family outing," said Jumba, a hint of amusement in his tone. The thought of being out in the fresh air and warm sun was appealing after being in bed for so long. "But perhaps to be taking samples of water and sand first. For making sure there is no more contamination that could cause further illness." 

Chapter Text

The following morning, everyone started packing and getting ready for their family beach trip. Pleakley gathered some towels and sunscreen, while Lilo ran around the house, putting on her swimsuit and a colorful hat. Stitch, ever the eager participant, grabbed his beach toys and started gathering the essentials for a sandy burial. 

"Here, Jumba," said Lilo, her voice filled with excitement. "You can wear this." She held up a Hawaiian shirt, the bright colors a stark contrast to his typical lab coat. 

"You are expecting me to wear this?" said Jumba, chuckling mildly. He held up the oversized Hawaiian shirt, wondering if it would actually fit his large frame. "Jumba has cloning device, little girl. Colorful Earth fabrics will not be necessary."

"But wouldn't it be better to just be yourself?" She pointed at Pleakley, his alien form already dressed in a woman's two-piece bathing suit, most of which was covered in a layer of delicate ruffles. "He prefers the au naturel look," she said with a smile. Even Stitch had donned a pair of colorful sunglasses.

Jumba turned the shirt over in his hands, carefully scrutinizing the brightly colored material. It felt risky, wearing nothing but ordinary clothes to disguise himself. But the thought of feeling the sand beneath his feet and the warmth of the sun was too tempting to resist. He shrugged, lifting the shirt and slipping it over his head, the fabric soft and surprisingly comfortable against his skin. 

"Ooh," Stitch cooed, watching his creator putting on the shirt. The fabric stretched taut over Jumba's wide chest and belly, the buttons just barely holding on. It was enough to cause the little blue alien to burst out laughing, pointing at the colorful pattern on the shirt. "Jumba look like tourist," he giggled, his sunglasses jiggling on his snout. 

"You is wanting me to complete your Earth disguise?" Jumba reached down, seizing his creation by the scruff of the neck and lifting him off the floor. "Because I am knowing where we can get perfect leash for blue puppy."

Stitch chuckled, his ears wilting slightly. "Soka."

Eager to begin their family outing, Pleakley flung the front door wide open, breathing in the scent of the ocean breeze. "Ah, how invigorating! The fresh scent of salt and life."

"Da, much salt indeed," Jumba commented, stepping outside into the sun. "Is like big salt lick, yes?" 

The room erupted in laughter at Jumba's comparison of the beach to a giant block of salt. Pleakley chuckled and said, "Jumba, you're starting to get the hang of Earthly humor!"

 Lilo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You look great in that shirt, Jumba," she said with a wink. Stitch, still giggling, added a pair of oversized sunglasses to Jumba's ensemble, which only made his family laugh harder. 

"Look at us, Jumba!" Pleakley spread his arms wide, striking a glamorous pose on the sand. "If this isn't the fashion statement of the century, then I don't know what is!"

Unable to hold back the laughter building in his chest, Jumba leaned against the doorframe, his wicked cackle carrying across the yard. Perhaps living with his new ohana wouldn't be so bad after all.

.oOo.

The beach was a vibrant tapestry of color and life, with children building sand castles, surfers riding the waves, and couples walking hand in hand along the shoreline. Stepping onto the beach, Jumba took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the warm salty air. Pleakley helped him over to the spot they'd chosen, a small area of sand away from the crowded shoreline. The sound of the waves moving against the shore was soothing, and for the first time in several weeks, Jumba felt a sense of calm settle over his weary mind. 

"Now, let's get you comfortable," said Pleakley, spreading out a couple of beach towels to accommodate Jumba's massive size. "Lilo, could you grab the sunscreen?"

Lilo nodded, happily bounding over to the pile of beach gear they brought. She returned with a bottle of sunscreen and a look of determination. "Alright, Jumba," she said, squirting a dollop into her hand. "You're gonna love this part. It's all gooey and smells like crayons and vanilla."

Watching with curiosity, Jumba sat back and allowed her to rub the lotion on his arms. "It's to protect your skin," she explained, her voice cheerful. "The sun is very strong here, and we don't want you turning into a baked hairy potato."  It wasn't long until she emptied the first bottle, reaching for a second and spreading the cool, slightly sticky substance over his exposed skin. It was a strange sensation, but not at all unpleasant, the lotion soothing his dry skin with a hint of floral fragrance. 

Stitch, ever the eager helper, grabbed a handful of sand and started piling it around Jumba's feet. "No, not yet, Stitch," Pleakley admonished gently. "We need to let Jumba get settled first." The little blue alien pouted, kicking a mound of sand before plopping down on his towel.

Once she had finished applying the sunscreen, Lilo brought over a bucket filled with a mixture of sand and water. "Look, Jumba," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We can use this to build sand castles!" She sat down next to him, using her hands to shape the moist sand into little mountains and valleys. "You can help me, if you want," she added, offering him a plastic shovel. "Come on, Jumba. It's fun."

"This is fun?" Jumba dipped the shovel into the sand, scooping and pouring the lightweight material back onto the beach. It had been so long since he participated in something so trivial, watching the grains form a tiny mound upon the earth. There was no scientific research, no charts and graphs, or brightly colored chemicals to hold his attention. And yet the simple act of pushing the shovel into the sand and watching his creations take shape was relaxing, almost therapeutic.

He continued working alongside Lilo, creating a miniature world beneath the bright Hawaiian sun. That is until a spray of moist sand shot into the air, scattering across the rooftops of the city they'd built. 

Looking up from his sculptures, Jumba saw that Stitch was busy burying Scrump in the sand. It was a sight that made him laugh, knowing that his creation would always have a chaotic streak somewhere deep down inside. Not too much, though. Just enough for making mischief. Very entertaining mischief.

.oOo.

As the morning progressed, the beach became a canvas for the family's collective imagination. Lilo's giggles were accompanied by the sound of the waves, and even Pleakley got in on the fun, sculpting a sand octopus that wrapped around Jumba's ankles. The gentle tug of the creature's tentacles tickled Jumba's feet, making him laugh despite his weakened state. 

As Pleakley was putting the finishing touches on his octopus, Stitch started digging a hole nearby, his blue fur sticking to his damp skin as he flung the sand out behind him.

"626, what is you doing?" Jumba asked, his curiosity piqued. His reply came in the form of a shower of sand, pelting against the side of his beach umbrella.

 "Surprise!" Stitch called out, all four arms moving beneath the sand at once. 

"Ah, I see we're going for the full sand burial experience," said Pleakley. He approached the furry alien with a knowing smile, taking a moment to brush the sand off his wig. "Just try not to get any sand in my hair. I worked all morning styling it for our outing."

The mound of sand on the beach was quickly piling up behind him, and within a matter of seconds Stitch had vanished into the hole he was digging, leaving only the tips of his ears visible. He then leapt out of the hole and ran over to Jumba, his paws covered in sand. 

Chattering away in his native Tantalog, Stitch asked if he could bury Jumba in the sand. Chuckling with amusement, Jumba agreed to participate in this primitive Earth ritual. Stitch gave Lilo the signal, motioning for her to come over, and together the playful pair began covering him with sand. 

The sensation was strangely soothing, like a gentle, all-over massage. Sighing in contentment, Jumba gazed up at the cloudless sky, feeling the gentle caress of the sun on his face. He closed his eyes, listening to the whisper of waves against the shore, the occasional cry of a seagull drifting overhead, and slowly he began to relax.

 "This is... this is very nice," he murmured, giving in to the calm surrounding the ocean. He had just started to doze off when Pleakley settled in a chair beside him, taking a moment to adjust his sunhat while gazing out at the shifting sands and rolling waves.

"It is, isn't it? It's surprisingly peaceful out here." Pleakley looked down at the colorful drink in his hand, using the straw to swirl the ice cubes against the glass. "I mean, I always knew this planet would be beautiful, having studied it from afar for so long. But actually getting to see it is... well, it's breathtaking, Jumba. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Lilo and Stitch continued to play nearby, their laughter and the occasional splash of water a pleasant background to Jumba's relaxation. The sound of their joy filled him with a gentle warmth, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He was almost asleep when Stitch's excited squeal pierced the air.

  "Jumba!" Stitch called out, holding up a shell. "Stitch find treasure!"

Shifting slightly beneath the mound of sand, Jumba saw that his creation was waving a seashell, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Despite his initial annoyance at the interruption, Jumba couldn't help smiling. "Ah, yes," he murmured, his voice still a bit groggy. "Very nice, 626."

Lilo ran over, her own eyes wide with excitement. "Look what Stitch found!" she said, taking the shell and placing it gently in his hand. "It's so pretty!"

Jumba examined the shell, feeling its smooth surface beneath his calloused fingers. It was intricately patterned with swirls of pink and white, the darker shades blending into a spiral of amber and rose. "Da, it is quite lovely."

Stitch's face lit up, and he started digging again. "More treasures, more treasures!" he exclaimed, kicking up a spray of sand.

Lilo laughed and joined the treasure hunt, their digging becoming more frenzied as they unearthed a variety of shells and smooth rocks. Jumba continued watching them from afar, feeling a strange mixture of amusement and fondness. These two, so full of life and childish wonder, had become his anchor in this new world. They'd shown him that there was more to life than just experiments and scientific research, strengthening his resolve and giving him the encouragement he needed to step outside and enjoy life on this beautiful new world.

"You know," Jumba said at length, glancing over at Pleakley, "I think maybe Jumba could enjoy this... this 'treasure hunt.'"

Pleakley's antenna perked up. "You think so?" he queried, taking a sip of his drink. "That's wonderful, Jumba! Getting active and enjoying the outdoors is an important part of familial bonding rituals."

With a bit of hesitancy, Jumba managed to sit up, the sand cascading off his limbs. He could feel the lingering exhaustion from his illness, reminding him of his newfound vulnerability. But the warmth of the sun and the smiles from his ohana gave him the strength he needed to push through it. With a bit of effort, he slowly got to his feet, the sand sticking to his clothes and skin as he made his way over to the water's edge.

"You wanna find some treasure too, Jumba?" Lilo asked, her voice adding to the pleasant background of the whispering waves and rustling palm leaves. She held out a plastic bucket. "You can put them in here. We've already got a collection going, but it would be even better if we could find some treasure together. Like family."

"Family." The word hung in the air, carrying a gentle warmth, the promise of brighter days, and better things to come. Jumba's thick fingers closed around the handle, holding the bucket as he waded out through the water. "Da, little girl. Showing me how to do this treasure hunt," he said, smiling back at them.

Lilo clapped her hands in excitement. "Follow me, Jumba!" She ran across the sand, leading him to her favorite spot along the edge of the surf, the waves lapping gently at her feet. Stitch, ever eager to show off, was already digging in the wet sand, his paws a blur of motion as he searched for more hidden treasures.

Jumba started to walk along the shoreline, the water washing over his feet as he looked for interesting shells. He was so unused to such mundane activities, having spent more than twenty years of his life in his laboratory. So much of his time had been spent on genetic experiments, and now, looking out across the rolling waves as the sun dipped towards the horizon, he felt a pang of regret for all that he had missed out on. That is until he heard Stitch calling out to him.

The blue alien was grinning from ear to ear. He held up a particularly large clamshell, happily waving it in the air. He waddled over to his creator. "For Jumba!" he said, placing the shell in Jumba's bucket with a flourish.

The scientist picked up the clamshell, examining its intricate patterns. "Spasibo, 626," Jumba replied, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "This is indeed a fine specimen."

Lilo giggled. "You talk like a science book," she said, her eyes sparkling.

"Da," he said, placing the clamshell in the bucket. "But maybe today Jumba is okay with not being scientific. Today we focus on sem'ja instead."

The three of them continued to comb the beach, each finding small treasures to add to the collection. The simplicity of the task was surprisingly soothing, a reminder of the healing process that comes with the love and support of family. After a while, Jumba noticed that his energy was starting to wane, the effects of his recent illness still lingering. He looked over at Pleakley, who had been keeping a careful eye on them from his beach chair.

"I think it's time for a break," Pleakley said, as if reading Jumba's mind. He stood up and walked over to his friend, extending an arm to help him back to his beach towels. Jumba took it gratefully, feeling the weight of exhaustion tugging on his limbs. "You've done well today, Jumba," Pleakley added with a warm smile. "But let's not overdo it."

The three of them sat down on their towels, the bucket of treasures a testament to their collective efforts. Jumba sifted through its contents, the colorful shells and smooth rocks glinting in the sun. "Is beautiful, yes?" he asked, holding up a seashell.

"That one is really pretty," said Lilo, taking a moment to admire their collection. "It's like we made our own little museum!"

Smiling through his weariness, Jumba leaned back against the trunk of a nearby palm tree, his eyelids drooping. Though he was feeling significantly better than he did two weeks ago, he would still experience fatigue and shortness of breath upon exertion. He closed his eyes, the ocean breeze cooling the heat that rose in his cheeks, a thin coating of perspiration standing out on his forehead.

Stitch, noticing his creator's exhaustion, crawled into Jumba's lap and nuzzled against his chest, his blue fur warm and slightly damp from the ocean. "Jumba okay?" he asked, his brow creasing with worry.

Jumba stroked Stitch's head, feeling the softness of his fur. "I am okay, 626. Just a little tired."

"Why don't we head home?" Pleakley suggested, reaching up to place a hand on Jumba's shoulder. "You've had a big day, and it's important for you to get plenty of rest. We wouldn't want to risk you having a sudden relapse after all the progress you've made."

His eyes opening slowly, Jumba gazed at his surroundings, reluctant to leave the peaceful scene. The sun was setting over still waters, painting the skies with vibrant shades of violet, amber, and rose. The foam that coated the waves sparkled on the surface of the water, the ocean turning from deep blue to royal purple beneath the darkening skies. If he could, he would have stayed, watching as the first hint of starlight blossomed in the sky. But he knew that Pleakley was right. His body was still weak from his illness, and he needed to rest.

.oOo.

Once they were back at the house, the cool interior was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Pleakley helped Jumba to his bed, urging him to lie down while he prepared something to drink. "You need to stay hydrated," Pleakley stated, opening the window beside the bed to let in the fresh evening breeze.

Jumba yawned, his eyes already starting to close as he sank into the pillows. The scent of the ocean lingered on his skin, a reminder of the day's adventure. From downstairs, he could hear the clink of glasses and the steady hum of the blender, followed by the sound of liquid being poured. Pleakley soon reappeared in the doorway, holding a tall glass of something cold and sweet. 

"It's a little concoction I made," he said, a proud smile blossoming on his alien features. "It's got some vitamins and minerals to help replenish what you've lost this morning. And it's delicious, too!" He held out the glass, its surface slick with condensation. "Just remember to sip it slowly. Your throat muscles still need to get used to the process of swallowing substances that aren't water."

Though he was thoroughly exhausted, Jumba took the glass and brought it to his lips, tasting the combination of pureed pineapple, orange slices, banana, and strawberries blended with some ice. There was also something else, a hint of mint that gave the drink a refreshing aftertaste.  "Is good," he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. Jumba took another sip, swallowing carefully so as not to trigger his gag reflex. "Tastes like... Hawaii."

The refreshing drink was enough to revive the ailing scientist, providing him with some much-needed nourishment at the end of the day. It had been a slow process, his diet mainly consisting of liquids, smoothies, and soft foods. But as time went on, Jumba was gradually building up his strength, his body learning to adapt to the variety of flavors and textures on Earth. This time, he managed to finish his drink without incident, handing the empty glass back to Pleakley as his tired eyes began to close. 

 "Rest now, Jumba," Pleakley said, taking a moment to adjust the blankets. "Tomorrow is another day. Your family will still be here when you wake up. We're not going anywhere."

It had been a long journey, with everyone coming together to nurse Jumba back to health. Surrounded by the love and care of his ohana, he was well on his way to making a full recovery.  

Chapter Text

 Six months later...

"Little girl, remember when you is asking why Jumba has party lights in spaceship? Well, let's just say that I have been making... how do you say... adjustments while little girl and bigger girl was away at the work and schools."

Lilo looked up at him, a spark of curiosity shining in her eyes. She watched as the scientist pulled a remote out of his pocket, pressing a series of buttons on the strange device. 

A low gasp mingled with the sound of Jumba's amused chuckle, watching as a panel slid open on the ceiling, revealing a shiny disco ball that cast a revolving array of colors across the walls. Stitch climbed up onto Jumba's shoulder, cheering and clapping his little paws. "Disco waffle ball!" he exclaimed, his choice of words making Jumba laugh.

"Ah, 626, I am thinking your language capabilities need work." Reaching up with his free hand, he scratched his creation between the ears, eliciting a purr of contentment from the furry alien. "No matter. We are not here for that. We are here for the festive rave, yes?" He pressed another series of buttons on the remote, revealing a set of high-tech speakers he'd installed in the walls. 

A sly grin spread across his face, and with the push of a single button, the speakers started blasting what could only be described as a hardcore Russian Eurodance mix.

"Come, we is making with the celebration of sem'ja!" Jumba held out his hand, the music flowing through the halls and out into the yard, drawing the attention of the other experiments. Lilo took a step forward, her small hand held in his, and with only a minimal amount of effort he lifted her off the floor, spinning her around in time with the beat.

Stitch leapt off Jumba's shoulder, soaring through the air and clinging to the light fixture on the ceiling, laughing wildly and swinging back and forth. Hearing the commotion, Pleakley came downstairs, his mouth dropping open in shock when he caught sight of Jumba and Lilo dancing beneath the revolving disco ball.

"Jumba!" Pleakley exclaimed, the walls vibrating from the force of the speakers. "What in the world—" He was cut short by Stitch sailing overhead, forcing the one-eyed alien to duck in order to avoid collision. 

"Akatoo-kee!" Stitch had let go of the light fixture, somersaulting through the air and landing on the banister. He motioned towards the furry faces peeking out from behind the curtains, underneath furniture, and out of doorways. 

Melty was first to emerge, his tail swishing back and forth in time with the music. He rose up on his hind legs, dancing and following Stitch down the hall. Drawn to the irresistible beats, Sample and Shush quickly followed, while Yaarp clung to Pleakley's leg, watching the scene unfold. A conga line began taking shape, with Stitch leading his cousins downstairs. Sparky shot in through an open window with Comet riding on his back, both of them eager to join the party.

"Well, I guess if we can't beat them, then we might as well join them," said Pleakley, looking down at Yaarp. "Though it would have been nice if Jumba had told us about this in advance. If he had done that, I would have had time to put together a proper party outfit."

More experiments started crawling out of the woodwork, following the music from across the island. Experiments of every size, shape, and color imaginable, running, flying, and slithering towards the Pelekai house. Boxboom, who had been quick to assess the situation upon arrival, plopped down on top of the speakers next to Shush, and together they worked to pump out the jams at an incredible volume. The music was so loud it vibrated a lamp off the table and onto the floor. 

Pleakley made his grand appearance moments later, sporting a blond wig and a red dress bedazzled with silver sequins. Running to catch up with Stitch, Pleakley and Yaarp joined the conga line, dancing down the stairs and into the living room.

Gloomy and Comet worked together to create a dazzling light show with fog machine effects, the beats pumping harder, with Stitch and Angel taking their place on the dance floor. The conga line came together behind Jumba, with more than a dozen experiments following his lead, dancing and moving in rhythm with their creator. 

"Jumba's got moves! He's got moves!" Lilo called out, her voice lost amid the pounding beats. She flopped down on the couch, cheering and applauding his performance. 

Not wanting to be left out, Cannonball hopped onto the coffee table and started twerking his ridiculously large behind. Finder honked and tooted like a festive noisemaker, bouncing up and down beside him on the coffee table. Everywhere you looked, dozens of Jumba's experiments were dancing and celebrating, either with their creator or on top of various pieces of furniture throughout the living room. 

Beneath the lights, Jumba lost himself in the music, displaying a surprising amount of skill on the dance floor. He wasn't just hearing the music; he could feel the rhythm in his chest, the music pulsing in sync with his heart.  "You know, Pleakley, I am thinking is time for something Jumba has always wanted to try," he said, grinning at his friend. 

Before Pleakley had time to react, Jumba grabbed him by the wrist, hauling him outside where more than a hundred of his experiments had gathered in the yard. Stitch ran outside, curious as to what his creator was up to. Looking this way and that, he spied Jumba climbing towards the roof, using his massive limbs and incredible strength to reach the top in record time. Pleakley was left in the dust, standing beside an overturned flowerpot that Jumba had used to reach the overhang of the roof. 

The furry blue alien snatched Pleakley without a moment of hesitation, running up the side of the building to catch up with his creator. The unfortunate alien let out a high-pitched scream, flailing his arms as Stitch carried him towards the roof. And all the while the speakers continued blasting out the beats, the sound rattling the glass in the windows, the experiments dancing on the porch, in the yard, and throughout the entirety of the house.

"Jumba, wait! What are we doing?!" Pleakley wailed, struggling to keep his wig in place as Stitch ran with him, easily keeping in stride with Jumba's hulking form. But the scientist merely laughed, his wicked cackle carrying across the yard.

When they reached the top, Stitch unceremoniously dumped Pleakley at Jumba's feet. The furry experiment burst out laughing, his wild laughter joining his creator's beneath the bright Hawaiian sun. It was in that moment that Pleakley truly saw a spark of madness shining in Jumba's eyes, as well as Stitch's inheritance of said insanity. 

"Getting on with it, Pleakley!" Jumba said, one hand on his friend's back, nudging him closer to the edge. Far below on the ground, the experiments surged and moved like a wave, coming together and drawing back, raising their arms in unison. 

"Oh no!" Pleakley cried, panic lacing his tone. His gaze darted from one brightly colored creation to the next, the crowd cheering far below. "No no no! This doesn't seem like a good idea! This isn't good at all! This is the opposite of good! It's... it's—"

"Evil!" Jumba shouted, launching himself off the roof into the crowd below. Pleakley's scream followed, with Stitch grabbing a noodley appendage and leaping off the roof with him. 

The gathering of genetic experiments caught their creator, lifting him high and tossing him into the air. Together they cheered, tossing him higher and higher still, and all the while Pleakley continued shrieking, trying his best to hold onto his wig while he too was tossed and carried through the crowd.

It was during this particular moment when Nani returned home from work. Stepping out of her car, aghast at the sight she was witnessing, she stood beside the vehicle for several minutes, trying to comprehend the sight.

"He's... he's crowd surfing," she said, staring with her mouth slightly open. Off to the side of her vehicle, the bushes rustled, and out popped an experiment with golden fur, carrying a towering stack of sandwiches towards the house. "You!" she exclaimed, pointing towards the scene happening in the yard. "You mind explaining what this is all about?"

"Don't look at me." Reuben shook his furry head, his ears flapping. "I'm only here for the food." He held out one of the sandwiches from his stack. "Care for a sandwich?"