Hurry! The lava's engulfing the whole area!"
"It's spreading fast!"
"Rigby- take my hand!"
"What- no way!"
"Do it now- or you'll die!"
"Waaugh! Oh nooo!"
"RIGBY!"
The raccoon fell backwards into the large pile of crushed autumn leaves, sending a flurry of red and orange bits fluttering into the air.
Mordecai laughed. "You're DEAD, dude," he chuckled. "Why are you laughing?"
Fall leaves of crimson and gold flitted in the cool breeze, the sky was a calm shade of blue-grey.
"We should probably get these leaves cleaned up," insisted Mordecai.
"Yeeeah," agreed Rigby, as he stood up and dusted off the crushed leaves.
The two stared at the mess. What had once been a manageable leaf pile was now a sea of crushed red and yellow flecks embedded in the grass. It would take HOURS to clean up.
"Dang it," Rigby complained. "Why can't there be, like, a vacuum cleaner for leaves?"
"I don't know- but let's get to work," Mordecai declared, stooping down to scoop up an armful of leaves.
Rigby filled the plastic trash can with leaves, and suddenly dumped them over the blue jay's head.
"Oh no you didn't!" laughed Mordecai to the impish raccoon, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him into the leaf pile.
"What the HECK do you two think you're DOING?" suddenly barked Benson.
Mordecai and Rigby turned around, to see their boss glaring at them, fuming. His fists were clenched and trembling, the circles under his eyes seemed darker.
"I TOLD you to pick up these leaves Three HOURS ago!"Benson shouted, his face reddening furiously.
"Now they're shredded- it'll take you even LONGER now! Don't you two have any common sense at ALL?"
"We-we're sorry," Mordecai insisted sheepishly, as he stood up. "We were just kidding around.. we'll get back to-"
"You two'd better clean up this MESS," yelled Benson, "Or You're FIRED!"
He cringed, then grimaced, rubbing his temples. He seemed to be in pain, his face was still red.
"Benson- you okay?" asked Rigby in concern.
"I'm FINE.. YOU TWO are just PISSING ME OFF!" Benson retorted angrily, storming off. Still rubbing his temples, he moaned in pain, muttering and cursing to himself.
"What's with Benson?" Rigby inquired, once their boss was out of earshot. "He's been even more of a basket case lately."
"I think he's kind of sick," Mordecai explained. "He's been getting migraines lately.. I don't think we're making it better."
He resumed picking up the leaves. After a few seconds, Rigby joined him.
In the kitchen, Skips sat at the table, drinking a soda, as Pops whipped up a batch of blueberry muffins.
"Uggh…" Benson grumbled as he entered the kitchen, swaying on his feet slightly.
"Hey- how 'ya doin', Benson?" Skips asked friendlily, as Pops hummed to his iPod.
"Better," muttered the gumball machine, grabbing a soda from the fridge. He sat down at the table and rested his chin on his hand, rubbing his left temple with the other. "The caffeine should help."
As he took a sip, Skips eyed him inquisitively.
"Your face is still pretty red," he acknowledged.
"Yeah- but I was just hollering at Mordecai and Rigby again," Benson pointed out. He sighed. "I'm sure if I had a day to rest it off, I'd be fine."
"Nothing's stopping you from taking a day off," Skips insisted. "I'd cover for you."
"I know," moaned Benson, rolling his eyes in frustration. "But I'd hate to see what would happen if I weren't here to scream at THOSE two." He had another drink of soda, sighing again.
"I feel like you don't trust me," murmured Skips.
Benson smiled weakly. "Of COURSE I trust you," he said. "It's Rigby and Mordecai I don't trust."
"I could keep an eye on them- easy," Skips continued.
The oven dinged.
"Oooh- good show! The muffins are ready!" Pops sang in a sing-song voice, twirling around. He put on a pair of hot pads and opened the oven, taking out a fresh, delectable tin filled with muffins. "Friends- the muffins are ready!"
He grinned and turned around, placing the tin on the table. He pocketed the iPod- a newfangled invention he was quite starting to enjoy.
"Thanks a bunch, Pops," Skips said happily, eyeing the muffins. "They smell great."
"I've been having a bit of trouble smelling, lately," admitted Benson softly.
"Oh, cheer up, you silly platypus- a muffin would certainly put a smile on that grumpy face!" Pops chuckled. Benson winced.
"Easy, Pops- Benson has a headache," pointed out Skips, coming to his friend's aide.
"Oh, dear- you look quite awful!" exclaimed Pops in dismay, upon having a better look at his friend Benson. His face was redder than usual, and the circles under his eyes were indeed darker. Most likely, it was stress, but…
"I'm fine," insisted Benson, backing away slightly. Pops had no inside voice.
"You poor fellow- let me check if you have a fever…" Pops lay the back of his hand on Benson's forehead and cheeks.
"Pops, just let him rest," Skips insisted.
"I'll be okay," Benson said uncomfortably, gently trying to push Pop's hand away.
"Goodness- you're burning up!" Pops declared, recoiling his hand in surprise. "Oh, poor Benson…"
"Really, please-" began Benson.
"Don't worry, my friend- I'LL take care of you!" insisted Pops lovingly, wrapping his arms around Benson in a motherly hug.
"Uh…" Benson said softly.
Suddenly, Pops picked Benson up as if he were a large doll, and carried him up the stairs.
"Please, put me down," said Benson irritably, though he didn't feel like protesting and hurting his friend's feelings.
Pops ignored him entirely. "Don't you worry about a single thing, good chum!" he said, as he carried Benson to his room.
"This is really… unnecessary," Benson said sheepishly, while Pops tucked him in and brought him an extra blanket.
"Shhh…" shushed Pops, placing a finger to Benson's lips. He beamed and patted him on the head. "I'll bring you a nice, warm bowl of cream of macaroni soup and a cup of herbal tea, sweet Benson. In the meantime, just close your eyes and rest."
Pops planted a doting kiss on Benson's cheek. Benson's face reddened in mortification as Pops skipped out of the room. The lollipop grinned sweetly, then turned off the light and slowly closed the door.
Benson sighed and smiled in disbelief, lightly shaking his head. "Oh, Pops," he muttered, almost laughing to himself. He recalled the time Pops helped a baby bird back into its nest. Pops was treating him just like that pitiful little bird. It was a strange feeling, to be doted over like this.
Dragging each two bags filled with leaves, Mordecai and Rigby trod back to the trash cans, and dropped the bags in.
"I thought we'd NEVER finish before night," Rigby complained, looking up at the sky. The sun had almost set, the sky was a deep blue, fading to a sliver of orange.
Mordecai dusted his feathered hands and smiled. "Wanna heat up that frozen pizza that came in the mail today from those free sample guys?" he asked.
Rigby grinned in anticipation. "Totally!" he agreed.
"Hey- finished with those leaves?" Skips asked walking over to the two.
"Yeah- just finished," Rigby confirmed with a satisfied sigh.
"Benson wanted me to let you know that Pops made muffins- so he's on dish-duty tonight," said Skips.
"You're free for the evening."
"All Right!" cheered Rigby.
"Hey, Skips- how's Benson doing?" asked Mordecai curiously. "He seemed… off. Is he still having those migraines?"
"He's taking a nap right now," Skips informed him. "He's taking it easy for the evening, and Pops and I persuaded him to take the day off tomorrow. It'll do him good- he'll be fine."
"Okay," said Mordecai.
"C'mon! Pizza tiiime!" Rigby insisted, grabbing Mordecai's wrist and running back to the house.
"Right behind you, dude," Mordecai confirmed with a smile.
While the rest of their day was consumed by video games and a ten-topping pizza, Skips knocked on Benson's door. There was no answer.
He gently turned the knob and looked inside, to see Benson asleep.
"Hey- Benson," Skips said in a soft tone, patting him on the shoulder. His boss stirred and looked to him.
"Is everything taken care of?" he asked, adjusting the ice pack on his aching head.
"Everything's fine- don't worry," insisted Skips, as he felt Benson's neck with the back of his hand. "So how are you feeling?"
"Bad," admitted Benson bitterly. He sighed. "I think the stress is finally getting to me."
"I think it's more than stress," Skips pointed out in fraternal concern. "You've been far more distressed than this- and this has never happened to you before. Have you considered seeing a doctor? I think that would be a good idea."
"They never do anything," Benson explained. "All doctors do is tell you your own symptoms and tell you to sleep it off an drink lots of fluids. I don't need to waste my money."
"If you've been feeling this badly for so many weeks, then a trip to the doctor would be a good idea," insisted Skips.
"It's probably just a flu," said Benson. "If I rest, it'll go away. I haven't been resting. That's why I'm not getting better."
Skips opened his mouth to speak, when there was a knock on the door.
"Benson, dear?" said Pops sweetly. "Are you awake?"
"Yes." Benson replied so flatly that Skips smiled in mild amusement.
Pops stepped into the room, holding a large bouquet of flowers in a lovely glass vase.
"I brought you some beautiful flowers to brighten your room- and your mood!" he declared happily, as he set the vase down on the nightstand.
Benson smiled a tired smile of appreciation.
"Thank you, Pops," he insisted. "I really appreciate all of this."
"Shush now- you rest up and get under those covers, you poor, sick thing!" Pops told him, giving him another kiss on the cheek.
Benson didn't the heart to protest Pop's uncomfortable way of showing him affection during his illness, so he merely blushed silently. Skips chuckled softly, as Pops stepped out of the room again.
"I'll always be close by when you need me!" Pops assured him lovingly, closing the door.
Once the lollipop was out of earshot, Skips laughed
"Ha, ha…" he chuckled. "Has Pops been smoochin' you all day?"
Benson grinned a sheepish little grin. "Yes," he confirmed in embarrassment. "I know he's just trying to be nice, but.. I'm not mean enough to tell him to stop."
He expected Skips to laugh at his chagrin, but he merely smiled.
"For all of his faults, Pops is such a nice person," he noted. "We're lucky to have him around."
"Yeah," Benson agreed with a smile.
Skips stood up. "Let me know if you need anything," Benson's right-hand man said. "I'll help you out in whatever way I can. Sleep well."
"Thank you," said Benson with a nod of appreciation, before Skips left the room. His temples throbbed, and he felt sick to his stomach. Benson grimaced and closed his eyes.
Leftover pizza and blueberry muffins greeted Mordecai and Rigby the following morning. As they sat down at the table and waited for their breakfast to heat up in the microwave, Skips poured himself a cup of coffee, still a bit sluggish just after waking up.
"Bad news- there was a small storm last night. I don't know if you heard it, but the park is covered in leaves again. Benson wants you to rake them up along with the sticks, then mow the grass." Skips stirred his coffee mug with a spoon, walking towards the table for a seat.
Rigby whined and lolled his head back in mock- exasperation. "Awww… man!" he complained. "That'll take us all day!"
"And what are Muscle Man and High-Five Ghost going to be doing?" inquired Mordecai in annoyance.
"Planting apple trees." Skips had a sip of coffee, already waking up for his long day.
"Augh…" Mordecai sighed with a frown. "They always get the fun jobs."
A thought struck him.
"Hey- where IS Benson?" he asked.
"He's-" began Skips.
"Oh, right- you said he was taking the day off," Rigby remembered.
Skips nodded. "Right," he confirmed. "He hasn't really been feeling well lately. So don't screw around too much today. The guy doesn't need any more stress."
Mordecai nodded. "Of course," he agreed.
"Mordecai, Rigby, where do we keep the extra ice packs?" Pops asked loudly, bursting into the room. "The old one had a hole, and was leaking, so I had to throw it out…"
"The back of the refrigerator," Skips told him, pointing. "You can stick it in the freezer for a couple of minutes. That'll get it nice and cold."
"Oh- thank you, Skips," said Pops in appreciation, skipping to the fridge. He knelt down and fished around in the bottom of the refrigerator.
"I wouldn't worry TOO much about Benson," said Skips with a smile. "Pops is taking good care of him."
Rigby gnawed on his muffin in dissatisfaction, then reached his arm around Pops to grab the butter.
After breakfast, Rigby and Mordecai stepped outside to see the expansive grass of the park covered in a fresh layer of wet leaves and sticks.
"Augh… this sucks dirt-balls!" Rigby groaned, holding his head back. He reached for a long stick, and swung it around like a sword. "It'll take forever to clean this up!"
"Dude- quit it," Mordecai insisted, taking the stick. "Benson doesn't feel good today- we shouldn't piss him off." He dropped the stick into a large trash bag, then walked over to another.
"But if Benson's sick in bed all day," explained Rigby, "then we can screw around as much as we WANT to. He won't care, because he'll be asleep."
Mordecai smacked him over the head with the little branch.
"Owww!" moaned Rigby, rubbing his head. "What was that for?"
"Ugh… you're so immature," Mordecai sighed as he rolled his eyes. "The sooner we finish what Benson wants us to do, the sooner we can do what we want to do."
He continued dropping sticks and branches into the trash bag. Disgruntled, Rigby raked the leaves and picked them up in armfuls, dropping them into the grey plastic trash bun he dragged behind.
"He doesn't seem to be feeling any better," Pops sighed, as Skips approached him at the door. "Tsk, tsk… I'm not quite sure what to DO."
Pops walked around Skips out of Benson's room.
"I'll be in the kitchen."
Skips stepped into the room, to see Benson resting in bed, staring at a spot on the ceiling, either in thought or in a daze.
"Hey- Mordecai and Rigby are taking care of the lawn, and I have Muscle Man and High-Five ghost at work on those trees," Skips told his friend, sitting at his bedside.
Benson smiled weakly. "Thank you," he said in a soft voice. His smile grew a little. "I knew I could count on you to keep things in shape."
"How 'ya feelin'?" asked Skips, examining Benson for a moment.
The gumball machine sighed. "Pretty terrible," he admitted with a shrug. "You know, I think it WOULD be a good idea, going to the doctor. I don't get sick very often, so it's been a while, anyway…"
"I'll schedule an appointment," offered Skips as he stood up to go to the phone. "Take it easy, 'kay?"
Benson nodded tiredly, then rolled over, drawing the covers up to his chin. "Thanks, Skips." His head ached terribly.
"Anything else you need, let me know," Skips assured him with a smile, closing the door.
With a pained sigh, Benson closed his eyes. It felt as if his temples were in an invisible vice-grip.
"Hello!" Pops said cheerfully as Skips walked into the kitchen.
"Hey, Pops," replied Skips in a pleasant tone. Pops was whipping up another bowl of soup for Benson. Though naïve and unknowledgeable in most aspects of his life, Pops was one of the most unconditionally kind people Skips had ever met. His enthusiasm for doing good, while expecting nothing in return, never ceased to impress him.
Humming to himself, Pops placed the steaming bowl on a large saucer, also balancing a cup of tea. "Good-bye!" he said to Skips as he left.
Skips smiled, and picked up the phone, scanning the phonebook.
Benson squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
"Aaaugh…" he cringed, clenching his hands around his head. The pain was so terrible ne felt like vomiting. He ground his teeth, tear stinging at his eyes. Benson let out a brief cry of pain, before everything went black.
"So tomorrow, two o'clock?" Skips said into the phone. He nodded. "Okay. See you then. Thanks, Doc. Bye."
He hung up the phone, and turned around to set the phone book back on the table.
Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, and turned around.
"Skips!" cried Pops, shaking Skips by the shoulders desperately. "Something is terribly wrong with Benson!"
"Calm down, Pops," Skips insisted gently, as he put his hand on Pop's arm. "What's the problem?"
"Come, quick" Pops begged, dragging him up the stairs by his hand. "I came in to give him his lunch, but he wouldn't wake up!"
Skips's eyes widened in concern.
As they neared Benson's door, Pops rushed in to his friend's side, taking his hand.
"Benson, please wake up!" the lollipop pleaded, caressing Benson's hand frantically. "You're frightening me!"
Pops sounded as if he were going to start crying any second. Skips checked Benson for a pulse, and held his hand in front of his nose.
"He has a pulse, and he's breathing," he confirmed, relieved but still alarmed.
"Oh- what should we do?" wailed Pops, burying his face into Benson's hand. "Will he be all right?"
"We have to get him to the hospital," Skips insisted.
He effortlessly scooped up Benson's thin frame in his arms, and carried him out of the room. Pops followed closely, nervously wringing his hands and whimpering softly.
"There's no need to panic," said Skips. "He'll be fine. Why don't you stay here? I'll let you know what happens soon."
"I want to go with Benson!" insisted Pops. "I want to be here for him when he wakes up."
It was a sweet thought, but Skips figured that Pop's boisterous presence would be a bit too much for Benson after being unconscious for a while.
"Benson wouldn't want you getting worked up," Skips persuaded his friend, as he rushed outside.
"Macaroni-" Rigby sang.
"I swear; if you sing ANY more of that song-" began Mordecai, before he saw Skips out of the corner of his eye. He and Rigby turned to look, to see Skips laying Benson down on the seat of his car.
"Can you do Benson a favor and calm down?" Skips told Pops, who whimpered and nodded reluctantly.
"Hey- Skips!" Rigby called out, as he and Mordecai ran towards the car. "What's going on?"
"Benson fainted," said Skips, getting into the car. "I'm taking him to the hospital."
"Oh. Go-" began Mordecai.
"Don't screw around while we're gone," Skips warned the two, as he turned the key hurriedly. "This could be serious."
He drove off, leaving a stunned Mordecai and Rigby watching the car shrink into the distance.
"Oh, man," Rigby said softly.
Pops let out a high-pitched whimper.
Mordecai turned around, to see Pops staring wide-eyed at the spot once occupied by Skips's car, his shoulders raised anxiously, his hands clasped together in worry. Pops suddenly buried his face into his hands and began to weep.
"Pops? What's wrong?" Mordecai asked, patting his friend on the back.
"I'm worried about Benson!" Pops insisted despondently.
"I am, too," sighed Mordecai, closing his eyes.
Rigby stared out at the road with a mortified expression.
Something else entirely was on his mind.
Slumped over in a chair nearby, Skips snored- exhausted and distressed as Benson lay in the hospital bed, still unresponsive.
Gradually, he faded to consciousness, and his eyes twitched with this sudden awareness. Benson slowly opened his eyes, to be greeted by soft, white room. His eyes widened in surprise, having no idea where he was, and he cringed. It still hurt to look at anything.
After a few seconds, he looked around, to see that he was in a hospital room. His eyebrows furrowed together anxiously, but he relaxed when he saw Skips at his bedside.
"Hey… Skips," Benson said softly, nudging his friend awake. He tried not to sound alarmed. "What happened?"
"Hmm?" Skips snorted, starting awake. He looked at Benson, and smiled in relief. "You're finally awake. You gave me quite a scare, Benson."
"What happened?" asked Benson again, sounding a bit irritated, mostly to conceal his worry.
"I don't know," explained Skips, as he fluffed Benson's pillow for him. "Pops went upstairs to bring you lunch, but you were unconscious. Do you remember what happened?"
Benson fidgeted with the blanket pensively. "I think … I think I blacked out," he admitted. "My head was hurting so badly… then I couldn't see. I thought I fell asleep."
Skips shook his head. "You were out for three days," he pointed out. He regarded his friend with concern. "They still don't know what the problem is. I-"
"You were here the whole time?" Benson asked in surprise, his eyes widening slightly. He was touched.
The circles under Skips's eyes said it all. He smiled sleepily, patting his friend on the shoulder.
"Oh- Benson, you're awake," said a tall, dark-skinned doctor who stepped into the room. He smiled. "I'm Doctor Robin. I have the results of the tests-"
"Skips?" Benson interrupted, looking at his friend. "I think I want to be alone when I hear this. Whatever it is, I'd rather tell you myself."
Skips nodded in understanding, and stood up to leave. As he shut the door behind him, Doctor Robin sat by Benson's bed, looking down at his clipboard thoughtfully.
"So what's the problem?" asked Benson nervously. "Is it a brain tumor?" He asked this half-jokingly, as his head throbbed for a moment.
The doctor looked up, slightly surprised, but resumed his calm countenance within half a second. "Yes," he replied.
Benson's face flushed, and for a brief moment, terror gripped at his insides. But he laughed, surprised that s doctor would even joke about that.
"Oh- man," he chuckled. "I didn't think real doctors actually did that. That is…"
He trailed off, seeing the doctor's facial expression unchanged.
"Benson," Doctor Robin said softly, glancing down at his clipboard. "A large tumor was found in your brain, and it's already spreading to your lymph nodes."
He showed Benson an X-ray, revealing the growth. The gumball machine was dumbfounded.
"I…" he said in a quiet voice. This had to be a continuation of the prank. But he knew it wasn't.
"I'm sorry, Benson," said Doctor Robin, looking equally forlorn. "Once the cancer has established itself in the lymph nodes, there's very little chance of recovery. The cancer is in such an advanced state that treatment would be ineffective."
"So…" Benson began softly, glancing down at his hands. "How long do I have, to live?"
"At the most," Doctor Robin informed him, "about a month. A more realistic expectation, however, would be about two weeks."
Benson felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Remember- please don't tell anybody."
The following day, Skips drove Benson back home.
Skips nodded gravely. "I understand," he insisted.
Benson made it clear that Skips was the only person he wanted to know about his illness. Having little time left, Benson intended to spend it as he always had. The idea of being treated as a sick man in his final days repulsed him.
"Thank you," Benson said gratefully.
He glanced out the window. Of course he and Skips had cried upon learning the news, but for the most part, they were mutually level-headed.
They knew that they couldn't say the same about their other friends.
"Mordecai, Rigby- look!" Pops declared happily, pointing at Skips's car. "Benson's back!"
Muscle-Man and High-Five ghost overheard, and they all ran towards the car.
Skips got out and opened the door for Benson, who was still weak.
"Benson- you were in the hospital for FOUR days!" Muscle Man said in shock, grinning at the return of his friend. "How 'ya feelin', bro?"
"Fine- still tired, though," Benson lied, stepping out of the car. He saw the concern on everyone's faces, and he smiled. He knew that lying was the best option.
"So what's the matter, Benson?" Mordecai inquired as he smiled nervously. "Skips told us you passed out."
"Just a case of fatigue- I've been working too hard," said Benson, grinning. He put his hands on his hips. "The doctor says all I need to do is take it easy for a little while- I'll be fine."
"Oh- I'm so happy you're all right!" Pops bleated, as he wrapped his arms around Benson in a loving embrace. He lifted Benson off the ground and twirled around, hugging him tightly and rocking him back and forth.
Benson's first instinct was to tell Pops to put him down. But that was the old Benson- the one who wasn't sick.
He smiled gratefully, hugging his friend back.
"It's good to see you, too, Pops," he replied, blushing slightly.
The others laughed, and Skips smiled uneasily.
How could he keep such a heavy secret concealed?
A long line of fresh patches of soil would grow into apple trees in the future.
In the meantime, it was the job of the groundskeepers to tend to them.
"Well, at least this has to be easier than Muscle Man and High-Five Ghost's job," Rigby said, nearly smiling as he saw the two carrying several trash bags of branches and sticks to the curb.
"Na-ha, ha…" Mordecai chuckled mock-teasingly.
He and Rigby watered all of the trees meticulously. They each had to have a specific amount of water- or else they would never grow.
"… lazing on a Sunday afternoon!" Pops sang loudly. Because he had been doing most of the cooking recently, he was on dish duty. This didn't seem to bother him in the least- as long as he was allowed to sing as he did his job. His voice was carried by the wind over to Mordecai and Rigby.
Rigby twitched. He glanced up at the sky, bored by the monotony of his task, and smiled as he saw a cloud.
"Heh heh," he laughed.
"What?" asked Mordecai with a smile.
"Look-" Rigby said, pointing to the cloud. "What's that cloud look like to you?"
"Which one?" Mordecai inquired, as he stood next to Rigby.
"That one- look," repeated Rigby. He pointed at the cloud again.
The cloud was shaped like a large rear end.
Mordecai chuckled- Rigby laughed loudly.
"Mother Nature's a perv," the raccoon chuckled, continuing his task of watering the trees.
"No- YOU'RE a perv!" Mordecai teased him. "If you actually noticed that…"
"How could YOU not notice a GIANT BUTT floating over us?" laughed Rigby.
"Hey, guys," Benson interjected, approaching the two.
They turned around and blushed- having had their boss heard this interesting bit of conversation totally out of context.
"Oh.. hey, Benson," Mordecai said with a nervous little wave. "We were working.."
Rigby turned around and continued watering the trees.
Benson, wearing a pair of sunglasses to protect his tired eyes, smiled.
"I know," he pointed out. "Keep up the good work, you two."
He turned around and walked away.
"Dude… is it just me, or has Benson been being a lot nicer lately?" Rigby asked in wonder.
Mordecai shrugged. "We haven't been slacking off as much," he explained. "Remember when he got sick a few days ago? We stopped screwing around then. He's still tired, so we really shouldn't be pissing him off, anyway."
Rigby nodded. "Hmm," he said. He watered an apple tree. "Hey, Mordecai?"
"Yeah?" said the blue jay, a bit surprised to hear his friend suddenly sounding serious.
"When Benson passed out… I was really scared that it was or fault.. I mean, my fault," Rigby admitted.
"What do you mean?" Mordecai said, looking at Rigby.
"I mean, we're always stressing him out," explained Rigby anxiously. "Sometimes when he's screaming at us, I'm worried he'll burst a blood vessel or something."
"Dude- it's okay," insisted Mordecai gently. "Benson's just high-strung. That isn't our fault. That's just Benson being Benson."
"How are those bags coming along?" Benson asked Muscle-Man and High-Five Ghost, who panted slightly after leaving a large bin of branches by the curb.
"Almost done," Muscle-Man confirmed, resting his hand on the lid of the trash can. High-Five Ghost nodded.
"Good," said Benson with a little nod.
"How you doin', bro?" asked Muscle-Man in concern.
"All right," Benson admitted softly, with a shrug. "Still tired, though. But Skips doesn't need to cover for me as much anymore."
Muscle-Man nodded. "Take it easy, Bro," he insisted friendlily.
"Take care of yourself," High-Five Ghost said, nearly inaudible. He patted Benson on the shoulder.
Benson smiled. "Thanks, guys," he insisted. "You're really making my job easier. Thanks for being consistent."
"Speaking of "consistent," what's with Rigby and Mordecai?" Muscle-Man asked, looking to where the blue jay and raccoon were working. Unusually, there was near-silence.
Benson smiled a little wider. "They were probably scared after I got sick," he explained. "Tsk, tsk… to think, that THAT would be the only thing to motivate them into actually working without screwing around."
Muscle-Man chuckled. "Think they'll just start slacking off as soon as you're well again?" he asked.
"Totally," Benson confirmed.
High-Five Ghost and Muscle-Man laughed loudly, Benson chuckled weakly.
"Having fun?" Skips asked jokingly, as Pops dried the dished and put them away.
"Oh- yes!" Pops bleated, cheerful as ever.
Skips smiled. Things almost felt normal around Pops…
He and Benson never spoke of his illness. And Skips knew he had to just let this knowledge fester inside of him.
"How are you, my friend?" asked Pops, who put away a stack of plates.
"Fine," said Skips softly.
He was dying.
Pops hummed chipperly to himself as he blotted the water off of a bowl with a pink hand towel.
"How's Benson?" Pops inquired. He turned to Skips and smiled. "He seems to be feeling much better- I don't see him quite as often anymore."
Skips cringed inside.
"He's fine," he forced himself to say.
Benson was dying.
Muscle-Man exchanged a suspicious glance with High-Five Ghost as their boss walked away.
"Something weird's going on, Bro," he murmured.
"What do you mean?" the ghost asked in his tiny little voice.
"Benson's… I don't even know how to say it. Something's different about him," Muscle-Man said. "Doesn't something seem "off" to you, Bro?"
The ghost shook his head- confirming "no." "He's been sick…"
"And Mordecai and Rigby… it's like they've been replaced," noted Muscle-Man, as he watched the two actually getting their work done.
"They're just worried about Benson," High-Five murmured.
Muscle-Man looked at Five, then over to Skips, who stood by the back door, looking up at the sky.
"And Muscle-Man's been acting weird, too," he noticed. "He's quieter than usual. Haven't you noticed?"
The little ghost shook his head.
"Hmmm…" said Muscle-Man, touching his chin. "I'll get to the bottom of it."
"Turning in early?" asked Skips to Benson, who walked up the stairs, trailing his hand limply over the banister.
"Mmm hmm," the gumball machine confirmed with a tired nod.
Skips walked him up and fluffed his pillow.
"Thanks," Benson said gratefully.
It was tough for the both of them, pretending to be strong.
"Do you need anything?" Skips asked with a gentle smile.
Benson shook his head. He was clearly in pain, and wanted nothing more than to sleep.
It occurred to Skips that, any night soon, Benson wouldn't wake up again.
"Good night," he said, gently patting Benson's hand.
"Good night, Skips," Benson replied. He closed his eyes, and Skips looked at him one last time before closing the door.
Skips retreated to his room and sat on his bed, burying his face into his hands.
There was a knock on the door.
Skips uncovered his face.
"Come in," he said.
The door creaked open, and Muscle-Man stepped inside, High-Five Ghost floating alongside him.
"Can I talk to yo, Bro?" asked Muscle-Man, in a hushed voice.
"Sure," Skips said with a nod.
Muscle-Man sat down on the bed next to Skips.
He glared at him.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"What do you mean?" said Skips.
"Don't play dumb, bro," insisted Muscle-Man. "We know something's up… you're all acting weird. You've been so quiet lately. Just tell me what's up."
"Nothing's going on- I don't know what you're talking about," Skips insisted bitterly.
"Bro- we both know you're lying," Muscle-Man said angrily, trying to keep his voice down. "If it's a secret, you can trust us."
"Please tell us," High-Five Ghost said softly.
Skips sighed. His heart leapt slightly- he was eager to share the burden of knowing about Benson's illness, but… would he really betray his friend?
"I was told to keep a secret," Skips admitted in a grudging manner.
"You can trust us," pleaded High-Five Ghost in his little voice. "Please…"
Skips let out a heavy sigh. "I was told VERY specifically not to tell anybody," he said, shaking his head. "But… but I just can't keep this a secret anymore. Benson's really sick, guys. He has cancer. He could die any day now. It's that bad. But he doesn't want anyone to know."
He stared down at the floor on a numb daze. Muscle-Man were wide-eyed in shock.
Muscle-Man tried to speak, but no sound would emerge.
"Oh my Goodness!" High-Five Ghost whimpered softly, clinging to Muscle-Man's chest for comfort. He was hugged, and Muscle-Man began to cry silently. In the darkness, Skips allowed himself to do the same.