Here's another one I've got ready for you guys. Enjoy the whiny sickly demi saiyans and an exasperated Videl.
"Mom!" A weak cry from Pan's bedroom caught my attention, and I left the soup I was preparing simmering on the stove before heading up the stairs to see what she needed.
A few days ago, a rather mysterious flu bug had begun to spread through those with a mixture of human and saiyan blood in their veins, which, of course, left me to deal with a miserable, whiny demi and quarter saiyan pair, better known as my husband, Gohan, and my daughter, Pan. For some reason, Goku and Vegeta weren't infected by it, so only Trunks, Goten, Bra, Gohan, and Pan were sick.
"What is it, love?" I peered into Pan's room, biting back laughter at the miserable-looking, utterly adorable orange burrito that was my daughter wrapped in several blankets. She sneezed daintily and wormed her way into a seated position.
"Is the soup ready?" she asked hoarsely, and I walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, "it would be if you and your father weren't calling me up here to ask me that at every other minute."
"We're hungry," Pan grumbled, glaring hotly at the plate of half-eaten crackers on her bedside table, "and these crackers aren't doing much."
"I gave them to you because you threw up all over the place this morning." I rolled my eyes, "I know you want real food, but you're still in the danger zone. I'm not going to give you anything solid just so you can chuck it up right after you eat it."
"Moooom…"
"No," I grabbed her empty glass, "I'll get you some more ginger ale, but no solids. Eat the crackers until I'm finished with the soup."
"Videl…"
"Oh kami…" I mumbled and then, louder, "I'm coming, Gohan, just give me a minute!" Pan chortled weakly and wormed back down to a reclining position. I rolled my eyes at her and hurried down the stairs to get her more soda.
Pan's POV
This must be what misery truly feels like, I thought to myself as I rolled towards the edge of my bed and swung my legs over the edge.
My body hurt, I was constantly too cold or hot, my nose had turned into a leaky faucet, my throat felt like it'd been rubbed raw with sandpaper, and my lungs were filled to the brim with mucous… not to the brim but it certainly felt like it. My stomach violently betrayed me this morning when I woke up and, upon sitting up, immediately began blowing chunks.
Yeah, the carpet's gonna have to be replaced.
I forced myself into a standing position, holding my blankets tightly around myself, and waddle-shuffled to my bedroom door and down the hall to my parents' bedroom. Praising myself for actually managing this feat, I began the trek to their bed, where my father was lying, suffering from his own hybridized flu.
Papa looked up blearily as I approached, managing a small smile, "H-hey, Pan-chan. How'd you get in here?"
"I walked," I responded tiredly, finally arriving to his bedside, "Papa, are we dying?" Unable to stand any longer, I fell over his torso and laid there, unable to move any further. I probably looked like a bright orange burrito with a miserable, extremely flushed face.
"I really don't know," he responded, trying to help me move from on top of him, "Kami, Panny, I can't even move you."
"Moooom…"
Mama walked into the bedroom, carrying my glass of ginger ale, and sighed at the miserable sight before her. She shook her head and set my glass down on her vanity before coming over to help me move.
"Do I even want to know how this even happened?" Mama asked, exasperated, "my Kami, you two are the worst patients ever. Gohan, what did you need?"
"More tea," Papa spoke hoarsely, and then coughed, "and is the soup ready?"
"I'll get your tea, and no, it's not," she grumbled, grabbing his mug, "stop calling me up here to ask me that so I can finish making it." Mama managed to maneuver me so I was on her side of the bed, lying haphazardly against Papa's side, and kissed my forehead.
"Pan-chan, are you sure you need all these blankets," she poked at my burrito shell cautiously, "you're burning up."
"I'm cold, though," I responded, "I don't feel hot. I talked to Bra a little," I sneezed, "she told me that she's dying and that Trunks is, too." By talking, I meant I used my nose to hit speed dial, and then laid my cheek against the phone while it was on my bed to hear her speaking.
"You're not dying," Mama laughed, "it's just the flu… only it seems to be affecting just you hybrids."
"How dare you rejoice in our agony," I whined, "this isn't funny."
"Actually, Panny, it kind of is," Papa chortled, "we never get sick, so this is probably refreshing for your mom."
"Mmhm," Mama hummed, "I just know that the next time I catch so much as a head cold, the two of you better treat me like Cleopatra."
"Didn't a snake kill her, though?"
"Both of you be quiet," she rolled her eyes, "I'm going to make your tea and finish the soup. Pan," she picked up my ginger ale and placed it on her bedside table, "here's your soda. Try to rest and don't throw up all over my sheets."