Wesley's P.O.V.
I was having breakfast and was in the process of getting ready for the show we have today at Kings Dominion. It's our first show since Drew went solo and I want it to be good so the fans can notice that we're still good without him. I heard a lot of rustling coming from Keaton's room, then coughing and sneezing and Keaton made an appearance in the kitchen doorway.
"What are we doing today," he asked.
He doesn't look so good and he's my baby brother so I have to take care of him.
"Nothing, what do you want to do today," I asked, making it seem like we didn't have fans to impress.
"Don't we have that show at Kings Dominion," he asked, his voice raspy.
He cleared his throat afterwards.
"That," I questioned.
He nodded and then stared up at the ceiling. I watched him in confusion until he put his arm over his nose and I knew he had to sneeze. He had to, but he wasn't so I went over and tapped his nose.
"You didn't have to do that heh," he said and then sneezed a couple of times.
"Yea I did I am your older brother and you are my baby brother," I told him.
"Oh no," Keaton moaned, "Not Dr. Wes again."
Keaton's P.O.V.
This is why I don't like being sick, everytime I am Wesley turns into "Dr. Wes" and treats me like a child. I cover my lower face with my shirt and start to cough. Just as I expected, Dr. Wes placed his hand on my forehead and I swatted it away.
"Please stop," I pleaded, "I'm fine Wes I promise."
"You're losing your voice, but have no fear...Dr. Wes is here!"
"No," I moaned and turned to walk the other way.
"Try to run and hide, but I've got medicine and a thermometer for you," he called after me.
"I'm going to go get ready and then you're taking me to that concert," I yelled back at him.
I really was losing my voice. Ugh! Wes came into my room and sat on my bed as I put my shirt on. There was an irritation in my nose and I looked at the ceiling, squinting.
"Are you sure you want to go," he asked, "You're my baby brother."
I pulled my shirt around my mouth and nose and sneezed a couple more times.
"If I let you feed me soup, give me medicine, and let you take my temp can we go," I asked, eyeing him with an annoyed stare.
"Deal," he shouted, "Be right back."
He ran out of my room and I started putting my shoes on. He came back a couple of minutes later with soup, medicine, and a thermometer on a tray. He set the tray on his lap and got a spoon full of broth.
"Open up," he told me," Here comes the train."
I stared at him again and then at the spoon.
"Come on," he cooed.
"I am fucking 18, not 2."
"Do it," he demanded.
I sighed and he put the spoon in my mouth. I drank the broth and stared at him. He did this to me for ten minutes, the most embarrasing ten minutes of my life and I stared at him, annoyed, the whole time. Then came the worst part. Instead of buying me pills, he buys syrup and gives it to me. He brought his hand up to my forehead again and I swatted it away again.
