Ego Daycare

Day 11

Mark was laying back, watching TV with King curled against one side and Wilford's head on his stomach. With a yawn, Wilford opened his eyes, staring at Mark's shirt before gently poking him in the side. "Hey!" Mark chuckled.

Wilford glanced up and him and wiggled his mustache. "How did I get here?" He muttered, putting a hand on his head.

"You're sick. You slept in bed with me and King last night." Mark explained, glancing at King. Then he looked back at Wilford who was looking around the room, having no memory of it. Mark leaned forward, placing his hand on Wilford's forehead and Wilford jerked back, unbalancing himself and tumbled off the bed. "Shit." Mark gasped, getting up on his knees and looked down at Wilford, flat out on his back. "You alright?"

Wilford let out a slight whine, and Mark slipped out of the bed, lifting him up and settled him back on the covers. Wilford sighed. "I don't like being lifted." He muttered.

"You're so tiny though." Mark chuckled. "It's so easy."

Wilford patted his pant legs and his eyes widened. "Where are my knives?!"

"You don't need them right now." Mark mumbled then rose an eyebrow. "Were you going to stab me?!"

"I would have threatened you first." Wilford muttered.

Mark sighed as he climbed back into the bed and settled himself beside King again. "No stabbing! Fuck's sake."

Wilford grunted. "Promise you won't lift me again!"

"I'm not promising that, I was carrying you around like a rag doll yesterday. You really don't remember any of that?" Mark frowned.

"No." Wilford shifted. "Where's Dark?"

"He's downstairs with the other healthy people. Why?" Mark sighed.

Wilford shrugged. "He's usually the one who takes care of me when I'm sick."

"He is?" Mark rose an eyebrow.

"I feel naked without my weapons." Wilford whined.

Mark shook his head. "You admitted that you were going to threaten me with one of them, so you're not getting them back right now. Just... watch TV." Wilford sighed, turning to watch TV and started shaking after a little while. Mark leaned forward, wrapping a blanket around him. When Wilford continued to shake, Mark sighed. "Cold?"

"No!" Wilford grunted.

"Why are you fighting me so much?" Mark groaned.

"I don't have to take shit from you!" Wilford muttered, trying to climb out of the bed, but got tangled in the blanket and rolled off the edge again.

Mark shook his head, chuckling slightly. "You told me not to lift you." He heard a groan from Wilford and nothing more. When the boy didn't get back up, he crawled out of bed again to stare down at him. "Wilford?" He asked quietly, and when there was no response, he lifted him into the bed and shook him gently.

Wilford opened his eyes with a whine. "I don't feel good."

"I know." Mark frowned. "Stop fighting me." He crawled back into the bed, wrapping Wilford in the blanket again and pulled him close, using his body heat to help keep him warm. Wilford sighed, leaning into him. A devious little smirk crossed his lips and he jabbed Mark's side with his finger. "Ah! Why?" Mark grunted.

Wilford shrugged, squirming closer to him. "Why is your house so cold?"

"The house isn't cold." Mark mumbled. "You're just sick. Here." He slipped an are around Wilford, rubbing his shoulder as he held him close.