The next day, Pete R. decided to make Sir a get-well-soon card and deliver it to him personally.
He was shaking so hard when he knocked on Sir's door. He hoped no one else would be paying his baby a visit.
"Come in, it's open," Sir called in a raspy voice.
Pete R. was about to open the door when Sir's pet, Dragon, opened it for him. He mumbled his thanks and looked around.
Sir's house was about as beautiful as he was; the walls were made of chainmail, little knight armor was everywhere, and flags adorned the walls.
Pete R. wandered around, taking everything in. He passed right by Sir's room and didn't even notice he was there. When he did realize he'd passed Sir by, though, he quickly backtracked and jumped into Sir's room.
Sir let out a small yelp of surprise.
"Damnit, don't do that!" he croaked, "You made me swallow my cough drop."
Pete R's heart nearly stopped. He could've killed Sir! Pete R. rushed over to his side.
"I'm so sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to! I just came to give you this get well card I made you!" he cried.
Sir snatched the card out of Pete R's hand. It was no card, just a sheet of paper in which Pete R. had written, "Get well soon, baby. All my love, Pete R. Canfly."
Sir read it, looked at Peter, and said, "Get the fuck out of my house, you creep."
Pete R. almost cried. Sir saw the look of sadness of his face and felt a bit sorry.
"Listen, hey, you could always get me a heating pad for my back. It's very cold in here," Sir whimpered. If Pete R. supposedly loved him, maybe he'd do whatever Sir wanted! After all, he was sick and was going to miss out on all the summertime action he could get on the beach.
"I could be your heating pad," Pete R. suggested.
Scooching away from Pete R, Sir replied, "Uh, no thanks. I prefer name brand heating pads. In fact, I know Rosy has one lying around."
Pete R. nodded, jumped up, and sprinted away to Rosy's.
Sir snickered and mumbled to himself, "What a sucker."
Pete R. was gone for quite a while; Sir eventually forgot about him and fell asleep, only to be awoken to being face-to-face with Pete R. Canfly's chest.
Sir screamed and pushed Pete R. off his bed and onto the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he screamed, his heart racing.
"Relax, I was just pulling you forward so I can put that heating pad underneath you!" Pete R. gasped. Falling hard on the floor had knocked the wind right out of him!
"Oh," Sir muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed that he'd reacted like that.
He laid back against the heating pad and switched it on. Heat slowly radiated up his back.
"Did you want me to get you anything else?" Pete R. asked, pulling himself to his feet.
"I want you to leave me alone," Sir sighed, his eyes drooping with sleep.
"Okay..." Pete R. mumbled sadly. He hated to be leaving Sir's house.
He shuffled out of sight. Sir was glad he could finally have some peace and quiet again--he had a splitting migrane, and every sound made his ears feel like they were bleeding.
Sir drifted off into sleep while fighting the urge to go and throw up. His stomach felt terrible.
Sir awoke to being thrown like a rag doll onto the ground. He coughed and spluttered. Was someone trying to rob him when he was sick and bedridden? How dare anyone take advantage of him when he was helpless!
Sir was furious when he saw his intruder.
"PETE R!!" he screamed, his voice hoarse.
"Sir, I'm so sorry! Rosy told me to tell you to not use the heating pad too long because it can burn you, but I forgot to tell you!" Pete R. gushed.
Anger boiled up inside Sir. He reached around and felt his back, hot and numb. He wasn't only sick, but now had burns over about 90% of his back. Fucking Peter.
Struggling painfully to his feet, Sir marched over to Pete R. and, grabbing him by his shirt collar, growled, "You listen here, pal. I'll let you off the hook on account of that being an accident and my being sick right now, but next time... Boy, next time you'll be sorry you were ever born."
"Sewn," Pete R. corrected him.
Sir shook him by his collar. "I'm not in the mood for this!"
He let go of Pete R. and walked over to his closet and looked through some clothes to wear for when he went to the store to get some cream for his burns--and some more cold medicine. Imagine him getting a cold in the summer!
Sir began to gingerly take off his shirt, being extra careful not to touch the burnt areas on his back. Pete R's face flushed red. He actually got to see Sir shirtless! Pete R. began to feel lightheaded.
"Hey, would you go away? I don't want you staring at me when I'm getting into different clothes," Sir snapped.
Pete R. didn't hear. He was practically drooling. In fact, he was. This creeped Sir Battlescarred out on so many different levels that it's not even funny.
Sir threw a hanger at Peter's head, knocking him back to reality.
"Will you leave, damnit?" he cried. If his back didn't feel like Dragon was breathing fire on it then he would have clobbered the fuck out of Pete R.
Pete R. nodded shyly and ducked out of the room. Sir sighed and slipped on one of his baggier shirts, one that wouldn't touch his back. He didn't bother with his pajama bottoms, because he looked hot in everything.
Sir laid uncomfortably on his side. He felt sick to his stomach, and his back sizzled with burn cream. What more could go worse in one day?