Chapter Text
In the end, Scoutmaster Lumpus managed to get Nurse Leslie back downstairs. He rode the moose’s mattress down using his sheets as a rope brake. Then, Lumpus carried his little swivel stool down to him.
“Thanks, Lez, sorry an elevator was never in the budget.”
“For Slinkman, anytime,” Leslie dusted himself off, “Just remember what I said. …And,” he sighed, “The way you’re looking at me, I’m glad I wrote it down for you, too.” He removed a piece of paper from his clipboard and Lumpus took it with a quivering hand. “Lots of fluids, vitamin supplements, liquid-only diet for 72 hours, and lots of bedrest.”
“Right, right, I can do this, I can do this,” the moose hyperventilated.
“If he dies, I hope he haunts the crud out of you. See you later,” Leslie bumped down the front stoop and scooted back to his office, kicking up dust in his wake.
(“…Samson?”)
(“Murrrp…”)
Lumpus stepped over his mattress and went back upstairs, holding the knotted up sheets rather than the handrail. “Hehe. Climbin’ Mount Lumpus.”
He re-entered Slinkman’s room. “The doctor is innn!”
Slinkman just stared.
“…Sorry,” Lumpus put his hands behind his back sheepishly, “Just tryin’ out some of that bedside manner. …Degh. Okay. So, Nurse Leslie left me his instructions on how we fix ya.”
“What…” wheezed the banana slug, “…’bout… ‘amp?”
Lumpus grunted. “Sheesh, Slinkman. Don’t be late to your own funeral, coordinating activities. I’ll show you how it’s done. Back in the ‘80s, we called this laissez-faire.”
He marched downstairs and picked up the intercom. The scouts, who had been waiting on announcements for nearly two hours, pricked up their ears.
“Uh. Attention campers, attention… campers. Slinkman’s sick. But not to worry! Your beloved Scoutmaster Loompus will be nursing him back to health.”
“Only the good die young,” remarked Edward.
“Now, listen to me very carefully. A lot is being asked of me just now. I’m not gonna be a nurse while mastering scouts, okay? Beyond my paygrade. So for the next three days, y’know… just do whatcha gotta do. You all know where the Mess Hall is and where the latrines are, let’s not kid ourselves. Dismissed!”
“Anarchy!” exclaimed Clam, switching a fork over to the spoon receptacle.
“Ohoh, Lazlooo,” Raj beamed, wiggling his fingers, “I am suddenly feeling drunk with power! I believe I shall use my Monday blanket tonight despite it being Tuesday!”
“Good for you, Raj,” Lazlo smiled back, putting his hand on his cabinmate’s shoulder, “You’re still gonna fold them and make your bed, right?”
“Of course?” Raj raised an eyebrow, offended, “I am liberated, not a savage.”
“That settles that,” Lumpus took his finger off the button and was about to ascend the stairs, but something buzzed in the back of his head and stopped him midstep.
“Oh. Fluids. Right.”
He raced into the kitchen, grabbed the pitcher of filtered water from the refrigerator and poured out a glass. “…Ooh. Crisp!”
He brought it upstairs. “Fluids!”
Slinkman blinked, and became vaguely more alert.
“Oh. Yeah. Your body,” Lumpus realized aloud, and came closer. Slinkman shook from head to toe and his fingers seemed frozen. They hung in the air like dried-out fish sticks.
“Gyegh, that’s enough of that,” Lumpus cringed, “Here. Let me.”
He tipped Slinkman’s head forward and angled the glass to his mouth. One or two drops did end up on his shirt, but it has to be said that the Scoutmaster was otherwise doing a passable job. At the first whole glass of water, the banana slug began to look fuller in his clothes. His eyestalks stopped pulsing, and his breathing became a few touches softer.
“Wow, look at that,” mused the moose, “It’s like putting water on a thirty-eight year old sponge!”
Slinkman licked his lips. “…More please, sir.”
“YOU’RE TALKING NORMALLY!” Lumpus shouted, “It’s a miracle!”
Smashh. Clink-link.
“Oh.” Lumpus glanced back to where the glass had flown out of his fingers in his excitement, obliterating itself against Slinkman’s framed poster of Spruce Slugsteen.
“…Sorry, Slinkman. I guess that glass was born to run.”
“It’s okay, sir,” Slinkman smiled weakly, the sight of which made Lumpus grin genuinely back.
“I’ll be right back,” Lumpus raced downstairs, grabbing the pitcher and a fresh glass. “…Y’know, this feels almost rewarding…” he whispered to himself.
He smacked his lips. “…I could use some of my grown-up candy.”
He reached into the cabinet above the sink for the plastic baggy of Withered Originals. Right next to it of course were a few bottles of vitamins. Lumpus’ hand twitched with temptation and he broke out in a sweat.
“…Neghhhhhhh—IT CAN WAIT.”
He put the sundry little white containers in his pockets and gangled back upstairs.
“The doctor is innn! Again! I gotcha more water and your vitamins too. A, B, B12, B13 for good measure, C, D, E, X, Y, Z, N.C.I.S., Magnum P.I., and my personal favorite, Bonanza! …Wait. Those last three are from the VHS. …Am I forgetting a Vitamin VHS?”
“Sir.”
“Oh. Right.”
Lumpus administered another glass of water, adding a new vitamin between every other gulp Slinkman took. His assistant was beginning to look more yellow and less white, and his shrivel marks were becoming shallower. It would take time for the vitamins to get into his system, of course, but he was definitely on the mend. His third glass of water he was able to hold on his own, albeit shakily.
“Slinky, I can—“
“T-Thank you, sir,” Slinkman’s voice sounded like a walkie-talkie in his glass, “I’ll d-do it.”
“If you insist.” Lumpus locked his fingers together and twiddles his thumbs. “How ya feeling?”
“More alive, sir,” Slinkman coughed wryly, “But still weak in the muscles and a bit faint. I don’t think I should try standing up yet.”
“SUSTENANCE!” Lumpus burst out, and Slinkman nearly popped like a balloon, “Wait here! I’ll wrestle you up some grub!”
He flew downstairs and tripped on his mattress. “BLA-hagh. Ouch.”
He stood up and checked himself for bruises. “If they set up a toll booth on these stairs, they’d make a killing.”
Meanwhile, the scouts were getting to grips with their new camp structure.
“Why don’t we play volleyball?” asked Lazlo. Samson habitually held his hands over his head.
“Who will be the referee?” Raj asked.
“I feel aimless,” Milt the hippo shivered.
“This here lack’a adult supervision’s makin’ my head all fulla stump water,” Larrison the stork scratched his neck.
“Larrison referee!” exclaimed Clam. Larrison blushed and flung his wrist at someone remembering his name.
“Yeah, why not?” Lazlo patted the little rhino’s back, “Whaddya say, Larrison?”
“I say, I say, serve’s up, is what I say! Let’s form up our teams, nah. Clam, yer Team Captain on this sod. Woodhouse, yer Team Captain on tha’ sod.”
“Edward,” Edward snapped.
“Aw, shucks. Don’t feel good folks not knowing yer moniker, do it?” The stork flicked the platypus’ cap off his head.
Back in the Scoutmaster’s Cabin, Lumpus was browsing the refrigerator.
“C’mon, c’mon, liquid diet, liquid diet, AH! Beef stock! …Y’know, I usually put this in my cream of wheat. …Slinky needs it more though! Into the pot ya go!”
In no time, the broth was sizzling nicely.
“Oohooh, lookit me, I’m a regular Chef Bean-ardee! OW! AH! OOH! AH. …Right. Oven mitts.”
He went up the stairs once again, careful not to spill the bowl as he hobbled.
“Soup’s onnn!” he called, slamming the door open, “…I should stop closing that.”
“It’s fine, sir,” Slinkman reassured.
“Open up, Slinky, here comes the choo-choo train!”
“Thank you, sir, I think I can manage,” Slinkman limply grasped for the spoon.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Slinky?”
“…You can let go of the spoon.”
Lumpus looked from his assistant, to the spoon, and back again.
“D’ya have to? I was just getting in the zone.”
Slinkman chuckled. His weakened mucus glands made him sound like a squeaky toy.
“…Alright. I won’t rock your boat. Slinkman Station is ready for the cattle stock train from Soupville. Aaah?”
A volleyball burst through the window like a comet, lodged itself in his mouth, and shot him up against the headboard.
(“D’AHH, HOGWASH. Edgar, ya no good sidewindin’ snake in the grass, go get that ball right nah, ya hear?!”)
(“Who died and made you Scoutmaster’s Assistant, Foghorn?”)