AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK, so this has been collecting dust on my hard drive for a while. I was inspired by a Tumblr post about someone's hilarious experiences with Nyquil. I wrote most of this then and didn't know how to proceed past Drake going to bed. Tonight I decided to find a way to tie it together and ship it out. I hope you enjoy it!

"AAAAACHOOOO!" Drake Mallard sneezed for what felt like the 12,000th time. He pulled his two blanket closer to his chin and slumped on the couch, sinking into the cushions as far as he could muster. His sinuses were clogged, his throat was grungy and grimy, and his head throbbed with the heat of his fever.

Yep, this was certainly one monster cold he was suffering with. He'd have to thank Isis Vanderchill when she got out of the St. Canard Penitentiary for the Criminally Crafty.

Launchpad took his eyes off the TV and gave Drake a concerned look. "Are you doing alright, DW?"

"I don't know, LP. Between my head wanting to explode, my makeshift cocoon here, and the fact that I sound like Negaduck (the fiend…), how do you think I feel?" he spat at his friend without even realizing how vile he sounded.

"I guess not that good," Launchpad muttered, then promptly scooted closer to the armrest.

Drake immediately realized his sarcastic nature had gotten the better of him and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Launchpad. It's not your fault. I'm just not in the best of moods tonight." As he said this, he grabbed a tissue from the side table and proceeded to blow his beak very loudly. He was not feeling good, a fact that every neighbor of his was now aware of. And this rerun of Pelican's Island was not helping matters.

Seriously, how on earth did it last TWELVE seasons?

Drake eased himself off the couch and stretched. "I'm going to take some cold medicine and go to bed."

A red flag went off in Launchpad's brain when he heard "cold medicine". "A-are you sure that's a good idea, DW? I know you're not feeling good, but you know what it does to you."

"I don't care what it does to me," he snorted as he waddled out of the living room, "I'm so stuffed up I can't even breathe. A…AAAAACHOOOO!" As he reached the stairs, the force of the sneeze sent him flying backwards and into a table of vases. As the table clattered to the floor, the two colorful vases tumbled off and hit Drake on the head before meeting the floor with a loud crash. He jumped up and grumbled all the way to the second floor of the house. Launchpad watched him ascend in a huff and shook his head as he returned his view to the TV.

Drake pushed open the bathroom door, which was already open a crack, and immediately went to the medicine cabinet to grab the nighttime cold medicine. He fished out two caplets from the box and popped them in his mouth without thinking. He sniffed hard, trying to clear his passages but to no avail. This intense sniff however caused him to sneeze, and the caplets escaped his mouth with the rushing air and mucus. He saw them bounce off the sink bottom and straight up in the air. He tried to reach for them in midair, but his fingers missed them with each swipe, and the green pills dropped once again into the sink, and rolled their way down the drain.

Great. Just great.

With another sniff and an exasperated sigh, Drake grabbed two more pills from the box. He filled a cup of water at the sink and dropped the pills into the half-full cup. They floated like buoys and were transferred into Drake's body as he gulped the entire cupful down. Not bothering to put the box of cold medicine back where he found it, he exited the bathroom and trudged next door to his bedroom, the whole experience making him more tired. He didn't even bother to change out of his signature pink button-up shirt and checkered green sweater vest. He simply slithered into his bed and snuggled under the covers as deep as he could go.

As he lay there, he began to ponder the medicine dissolving in his stomach and what Launchpad had said earlier. All he knew about the medicine's effect on him was what Launchpad had told him the next day the last time he had a cold. Apparently, he had done some unusual things.

He and Launchpad had debated the merits of putting meat before cheese on sandwiches, he drove to see a man about their air conditioner while being so delirious, he could be DUI, and he even went to the Muddlefoots, willingly, and invited himself over for dinner when he realized all meals to that point had been absentmindedly skipped. Of course none of this was remembered the next day when he awoke on the Muddlefoots' couch.

He had inferred it had something to do with the way the cough suppressant affected his brain. Despite this, he meant it when he said he didn't care. He was frustrated at how congested he was left after his last adventure, and any relief from his feverish, disgusting state was worth any side effects that would come upon him. Drake coughed a thoroughly wet cough, rolled over onto his side and began to think about the clear nose and regained energy he'd have in the morning. The sunset outside bathed his room in a faint orange glow as he let sleep overtake him.

When he awoke, the midday sun lit up his room and Launchpad was sitting beside his bed. He sniffed the air through his now clear nasal passages and looked at his phone. His eyes bugged out when he noticed it was Thursday. It should have been Wednesday.

Drake looked at his pilot with dismay on his face. "It happened again, didn't it?" he squeaked.

"It sure did!" Launchpad smiled.

Drake slapped his forehead, feeling his headache returning. "Hoo boy…"

He couldn't WAIT to hear about this.