Hey everyone!

Ichabod is a rather superstitious fellow, and I take Calamity to be quite the prankster, so I imagine things such as Friday the 13th would turn out rather interesting.

I'd like to thank The-Singular-Peep for all her assistance - she's awesome, and you can find her in my favorites! Thanks for reading!

Calamity cast a glance out the window. She had been up all night, and a soft blue light was starting to peak over the horizon. It was almost time. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make them appear watery and red. She already looked pretty bad, she assumed, having not slept since the previous night.

But she wanted it to be convincing.

It was Friday the thirteenth, and she planned to continue her tradition of scaring Ichabod. Normally it was something simple, like painting measles on him, or blacking out the windows to fake the apocalypse - both having spectacular results.

But Ichabod had come to expect the pranks. This time though, she would get him good. She had lived with him her whole life - she new his weakness.

He couldn't stand illness - was terrified of it.

So she sat up all night, plotting to fake an ailment. She had planned this for weeks, and had thought long and hard on how to make it convincing.

She ruffled her gown, discarded her cap on the floor, and rustled the sheets of her already messy bed. Calamity stood, letting her feet slap the wood floor as she walked over to the door. She paused outside Icky's room, taking a moment to get in character.

"I… Icky?" It took little effort to make her tired voice sound pained.

"What is it?" His voice was hoarse, having just woke up. He was a light sleeper.

"I," she paused and took a 'labored' breath. "I don't feel good."

She heard him stand. "Go sit on the couch," he called, now fully awake. "I'll be right there." A victorious smile came to her face but she quickly hid it. She would have to display flawless acting to sell it to him.

Calamity did as he said, still slapping her feet and walking slow. She plopped down on the sofa, resting her head on the side and throwing an arm over the back. She had grown in the past couple months, and her feet now reached the other end of the couch. She let her eyes droop tiredly, waiting for Icky. He came rushing in a moment later with a stack of blankets.

"What's wrong?" He asked concernedly, taking in the teenager spread across the sofa.

"M' stomach," she mumbled, wincing for emphasis. He spread a couple blankets over her to fend off the cold morning air, then moved to light a lamp.

"Is there anything else?" He sat beside her, perching on the small space that was left unoccupied.

"My head. 'M cold," she said quietly, shifting farther under the blankets. She was surprised Ichabod hadn't caught on yet.

"Are you going to… be sick?" He desperately hoped she wouldn't. The sun wasn't even up - he shouldn't have to deal with this so early. A small shrug was the only response he received, so he figured it would be a good idea to sit a wastebin beside her. Better safe than sorry.

"Do you think you ate something bad?" He asked gently, trying to discern the cause of her sickness. And if it was contagious.

Again she shrugged, sinking into the covers. He sighed. She was always so difficult in these situations. "Chalchiuhtlicue," he tried again. "I need you to talk to me so that I can help. I can't fix a problem if I don't know what it is."

"Icky, I… I don't know," she whined. She was thrilled with how well this was working out. "I just woke up feeling bad." She balled the blanket in her hands, subtly scrunching her face.

Ichabod wasn't sure what to do. If it was a stomach bug (which it was most likely to be) it would go away on its own. He had no way of knowing if it was something worse, so he tucked the sheets around her and suggested she get some sleep.

Calamity, tired from staying up all night, contentedly closed her eyes. She was proud of her work so far, and looked forward to escalating her brother's worry. After some sleep.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Ichabod's worried face. It wasn't an uncommon thing for her to wake up to. She groaned, sitting up to look at him.

"What is it, Icky?" She croaked while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"I've been trying to wake you for quite some time." He said. "How are you feeling?"

She looked at him for a moment, confused. Why was he asking how she felt? Calamity scanned the room. She was in the livingroom, was the first thing that stood out to her. There was also a basket beside the couch, and she was smothered in blankets. But she wasn't sick…

Oh. She tried very hard to hide the smile that came to her face - she had to keep the act up.

"How do you feel?" Ichabod repeated. She rubbed her eyes, falling back onto the couch.

"Tired."

"Does your stomach still hurt?"

"Mm'hm," she gave a small nod as she tried to situate her blankets back over her. Ichabod smoothed them up to her chin, before taking a seat beside her.

"Would you like to try eating something?" She offered another small nod, keeping check of her expression. She was aiming for "I don't want to be babied, but I'm too tired to care". He seemed to have bought it, as he stood and headed for the kitchen.

Ichabod retrieved a pot and jar of soup that Kitty had given him for such situations. He set about preparing it, periodically checking in on Chalchiuhtlicue. He also took care of his other chores while he waited for the food to heat up.

He watered his plants. He made his bed. He started to mark off the day on his calendar, but noticed something. The first unmarked day was circled in bold, red ink.

It was a Friday.

He slowly looked to the number written in the corner, begging to whatever deity reigned above him that it wasn't what he thought.

It was.

Written in the corner was the number thirteen.

His heart sped up, starting his usual panic, before a thought crossed his mind. Ichabod turned his gaze to the living room, and the lizard sprawled across the sofa.

It was Friday the thirteenth. Chalchiuhtlicue had made it her mission to prank him on that cursed day, ever since he had explained it to six-year-old her. He decided not to rat her out, though. He would play along with her prank - he was curious to see just how far she took it.

Ichabod fixed the bowl of soup, and made his way back to where she was propped up on the couch. He reclaimed his seat on the edge of the cushion, placing the bowl on her lap.

"There you go," he said, a bit too sweetly, and brushed her fringe out of her face. "Would you like me to feed you?" He offered. He intended to make it as awkward as possible.

He saw a look of hesitation flicker across her face, but she quickly recovered. She moved to prop herself up farther, nodding her head. "How do you feel?" He asked softly, spooning out some soup.

"Awful," she moaned. "It hurts."

Ichabod held back his amusement, hoping to sound concerned. "I'm sorry. Maybe eating something will help," he suggested. Her embarrassment at being fed didn't go unnoticed.

He decided to take it a step further.

"I'm proud of you."

She froze halfway through a bite, giving him a confused look. "For coming to me," he clarified. "I know you usually set up some sort of prank. I'm proud of you for asking for help when you need it."

He didn't miss the slightly guilty look that crossed her face. Nor the uncomfortable shift.

She took several more spoons of soup before laying back and mumbling an "'M full." Ichabod moved the bowl from her lap to the the small table.

"Do you feel sick?" He asked, giving the most concerned look he could muster.

"A little." She made a point of wincing. He moved up beside her head, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to get her to lean forward. She shot him a questioning glance.

"I'm going to fluff your pillow," he said, taking it from behind her. He fluffed it thoroughly before placing it back under her. She was still looking at him, now somewhat suspicious.

"Thanks," she spoke softly, trying to make her voice sound strained. "I… I feel pretty bad."

Of course you do, he thought, leaning down to grab the wastebin and set it in her lap. "I'm sorry," he said again, and pushed her flopping fringe back. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked. She shook her head, so he moved to sit in the cleared space at the end of the couch. "Just let me know if there's anything I can help with," he said sweetly, giving her a soft smile.

She returned the gesture - adding just enough discomfort - and nodded lightly.

Something was off, she noted. He wasn't reacting quite as much as he should have. And he was… kinder, than usual. More considerate.

But she knew how to elicit a strong reaction.

Calamity moaned slightly. She pushed her head against the back of the couch, clutched the blankets, and scrunched up her face. "Icky, I… I don't feel too good," she ground out. "I think 'm gonna…" she let out a small whine, leaning over the basket.

"Are you going to be sick?" He asked, taking the floor beside her. She hid her smile behind a groan, tightly closing her eyes.

Calamity decided to take it even farther.

She subtly tried to rub her tongue against the back of her throat, hoping to trigger her gag reflex. She didn't want to make herself vomit - just come close enough that Icky thought she would. She made a noise, doing something a little less than a gag, and caught his nervous shift out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't sitting as close to her now, she noticed, but he still didn't seem too worried.

So she tried again.

This time she gagged.

And then again, without even trying. It soon became apparent that maybe, she had pushed too far.

"Chalchiuhtlicue, stop!" Icky said, half reprimanding, half concerned screech.

But she couldn't stop. She doubled over, vomiting into the basket. And again. And soon she was dry heaving.

After several minutes she finally got it under control, falling tiredly back into her pillow. That had been a bad idea, she decided. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and set the bin on the floor, her gaze searching for Ichabod.

He wasn't in the room - probably retrieving some form of cleaning supplies.

Calamity groaned, trying not to gag at the awful smell. Ichabod came rushing back in a moment later, holding out a rag and glass of water. She gladly accepted it, eager to rid the burning sensation from her throat.

"What were you trying to do?!" Ichabod demanded the second her glass left her lips. Calamity slowly turned to place the cup on the table, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Huh?!" He shouting again, startling her. "What possessed you to do that?!"

"Oi, I didn't mean to, Icky," she mumbled, keeping her eyes downcast.

"Well then what were you trying to do?! I know full well you were trying to do something!"

"I was just tryin' to make myself gag was all!" She defended, glaring up at him.

"And why would you want to do that? Why would you even pretend to be sick in the first place?!"

"Because, Icky," she said, standing. "It's Friday the thirteenth. Ya know I didn't mean any harm!"

"You're grounded for a week," he declared, ignoring her argument and turning to leave.

"But Icky," she started after him. Only she didn't watch where she stepped, and her foot collided with the wastebasket, sending its contents spilling across the floor. She stared at the mess with wide eyes.

Ichabod heard the noise and spun around.

"Chalchiuhtlicue," he cried, looking between her and the horrid, reaking mess.

"Icky, I-"

"Save it."

He stepped into the kitchen and selected a rag he had no intention to use ever again. Hoping to stay as far away from the vomit as possible, he took approximately three steps into the main room, at threw the towel. She caught it, and, realizing what it implied, looked at him pleadingly.

"Clean. It. Up."

He retreated to another room, wanting - needing - to get away from the retched smell. He heard her gag, more than once, followed by what he suspected to be some choice words.

"This child," he muttered, "is going to be the death of me."

Thanks again for reading!

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