Eeeeeevvvvvillll. Wommmmaaan.
Clark wiped some of the slop of of his robes and gagged. The smell was almost unbearable...but he would wash all of those bedpans and pails the best. He would beat Jake. He would win!

You could win?

He pulled his gloves on. They were plasticky and thin, and didn't seem to be able to do the job. Ewwwww.

As he wet the brush and started scrubbing, a thought came into his head. Quidditch. They still didn't know who was on the roster, if they made it or not.

If he had never even touched that icky tapestry...

Pouting and flailing quite miserably, Jake pressed himself as far back into the corner of the room, the better to get away from the... ickiness. Ewww... sooooo disgusting. Jake had to put his sleeve over his mouth again as his stomach heaved. But he wouldn't puke. Nope. More cleaning up.

"Nghmmnhhhhh..." Jake whined, bouncing back against the wall, then forwards again, then back, then forwards... in a stereotypical way. Back and forth, his free hand flapping in front of him wildly.

NOT. DOING. IT.

Clark threw one of his bedpans at Jake. "C'maoommmn. Wweerok." If only he knew nonverbal spells. Or if only he could persuade Nurse A that he was a changed boy....ACHOOO! he sneezed.

OK, he wasn't faking. The sneeze sounded quite funny because of the whole nose-eye-mouth connection. Like 'achoaaiieeee.' He turned his puppy dog eyes on the nurse and smiled sweetly. "P-pleaaseese....achoaaiieeee!"

"NNGHGNHGHNGGNHHH!!!!!" Jake repeated. But it needed no translation. It was quite obvious, really. It meant: I'M NOT BLOODY DOING IT!

His eyes juuuuuuust about started tearing up as he began to freak. At the very least he could have his voice back, no? This was scary. Had he been on his own, or with people other than Clark and Nurse Avalon (except perhaps Professor Morgan) he'd have curled up into a ball on the floor by now.

Eyes going wide, Jake rocked back and forth again, THUD THUD THUD.

Hyyyyyperventilate.

Clark's eyes about popped out of his head. He didn't like to see people freaking out, cos...he kinda freaked out also. Especially when he was trying to be calm.

"Ssstooopppppp-hyyyhyperventillatinngg...." Clark started to breathe way too loudly. And he was kind of pale....

He tried scrubbing the pans, but his hands were shaking too bad.

Caroline looked up from her book. It was giving her a few ideas.

She flicked her wand. An allergy potion went to Clark and a sleeping - not a calming potion - went to levitate in front of Jake.

"Here is the thing boys. I'm always a healer, but I'm not your friendly healer right now," she said from her comfy chair, not looking up from her book, "So, Clark, if you're faking, by all means, go ahead and take the allergy potion, but if you use it all the time even when you don't need it, one day it won't be effective when you do. Jake, if you're ACTUALLY having a panic attack and you just can't bear it anymore, take the sleeping potion, you'll calm dow, get some rest, and feel better when you wake up. BUT your problems will still be here when you wake up, they will have even piled up while you slept, so maybe it's better that you try and learn some coping strategies while you're in here."

She turned the page and read on. Less than interested in what the boys chose.

Clark wasn't faking. Of course, he would say that, to seem cool. Teenage boys. (sigh) He took the familiar potion out of the air, which was suprisingly hard to grasp, and undid the stopper.

He drank it down. Icky, but he guessed it would help. And at least he wouldn't 'achooahchiee' or whatever, again. He brushed off his gloves a little bit and scrubbed on his chosen pan. It was harder than it looked-the mess on it must have been at least an inch above the metal. Scrub, scrub, scrubbity scrub.

Why was it, in both of his detentions, he had had to clean something?

Dude, Jake was thankful for something to make this stop. So what, there'd be loads to do later? Okay, but... not right now. Not when he was still worked up. It looked like both Jake and Clark were taking the potion's way out.

*GRABBY HANDS*

Still whimpering juuuuuuust a teeency bit, Jake snatched the potion from mid-air and pour the lot of it in his mouth.

Waaaiiiittttt... did she say sleeping potion?

But... Jake forgot to sit down fi-

THUD.

At first he slumped back against the wall, but didn't go back up. His eyelids were getting reeeeallll heavy, and it felt like he was fighting the sleep. And then... he slept.

Crashing to the floor, Jake slept on, quite serenely.

Cari peeked over the top of her book as Clark took his potion and began scrubbing. He at least was zealous about the matter.

If he kept it up, he might not get burried in bedpans.

Oh bad idea Jake. Cari shook her head and went back to her book. It wasn't her problem if Jake woke up literally buried in vomit pails. She had warned him.

Clark noticed Jake crash to the ground and shrugged. If this would keep him in detention while Clark wreaked havoc on J's kingdom, he'd be fine with it. *evil cackle*

As he was scrubbing, a glint of metal caught his eye. He was done with about a three inch block of the pan. Yayyyy! Everything would be fine, as long as-

Oh great.

Part of his gloves had burst open, exposing some of his fair skin. He tried to continue, but skin was brushing on his pan. His skin was going to be rubbed raw by the end of the day.

Twitch.

Twitch twitch.

Deep in REM stages of sleep, Jake's feet and hands twitched, like a puppy dreaming of chasing a cat... or a fly... or a rabbit. He was breathing in the smell of that icky stuff... and in his sleep... he was kind of getting used to it.

Only he didn't know. But the smell wouldn't affect him as much later. Chyeah.

After about four broken fingernails, some tears, blood, and sweat, (not neccessarily in that order) Clark was done with three of his bedpans. And he was getting much better at it. It only took him about seven minutes on each of them now!

His pans were quite shiny, and he beamed. But, as Clark, something was going to go wrong. It...was....too....shiny.....

Clark attacked the bedpan and poked it. It was...so...pretty....

... How long had it been?

Meh. Jakers was tiiiiiiyaaaaaahd! And... maybe he should go back to sleep, no? No. Definitely not. There was an infernal noise... a scrubbing noise...

Where was he again?

Daaaaang.

"Uhhhrggh," Jake mumbled, opening his eyes a tad and finding that he was now on the floor. Confronted with... a wall of...

Ewwwwwwwwww... "Errrr?"

Clark smiled. His shiny need had been satisfied, and so he started scrubbing again. After what seemed like a long while, he finally finished all of them....except one. That menace. After several attempts to clean it-at all-he almost gave up. But he COULDN'T give up. Never.

He gave it his all-and there was one glint of metal. Yessssssss.

Soooo... the smell was... kind of gone.

Or, it seemed that way to Jake.

Rubbing at both eyes with balled up fists, Jake yawned and pushed himself up off the floor. He was... surrounded.

Duuuuuuude...

"Hnnghnnhh," Jake slurred out, looking around the huuuuuuge pile towards Healer Avalon. He made a series of loud shouts and yells and pointed to his mouth. "Hnnbghhllehhngnhghh..." he said.

Pleeeeeease take this stupid spell off.

*Puppy dog eyes*

And then I'll start.

Clark glanced at Jake, then at Nurse Avalon, then at Jake...

And he had an evil plan.

Nurse A was deeply engrossed in her book, right? And Jake was still kinda woozy, right? And he couldn't clean that bedpan, right?

Clark picked up the last pan and silently made his way across the room. He set the pan down quietly-and went back to his corner without a sound. He then sat down and raised his hand. "I'mman d-d-d-d-u-n-nnn."

Or so he thought.

He looked at the 'empty' pile and saw it had filled up. Again. Sigh.

...

HE SAW THAT!

"BBHGGHHGELLSSDHUSKLLLL!!!!!" Jake yelled out, rather loudly actually, actually stomping his foot on the floor... he felt like a right toddler, with the whole 'can't speak' business, as well as the tantrum.

Still with one hand pointed at his mouth, Jake raised his other arm and pointed at Clark. "HHEHBBSLSLIEIIILIEEEEESSSS!!!!!"

Clark looked at the nurse with innocent eyes. "Wh-who m-m-m-eee?" he asked with his lower lip quivering. "N-n-n-e-e-vvv-e-rr." He crossed his ankle and a single tear dripped from his eye.

The boy ran a hand through his blue hair, oblivious to the stinky mess it left.

Scowling, Jake stomped over towards the one bedpan that he was not supposed to clean, and kicked it back across the room towards Clark. Ha. Serves him right.

Stomping back, Jake, not going riiiight back to where he had been, but off to the side, taken aback by the laaaaaaaarge pile that had... erm... piled up.

Siiiiiiiigh.

One last look at Healer Avalon, and Jake reached out for the gloves he needed, checking they were on properly before gingerly picking up a vomit pail between the very tips of his forefinger and thumb. EWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Okay... a scrubby thingy an the water.

At least now Jake wasn't so worried about the smell... though the visual stimulus was enough to make him want to upchuck.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

Okay...

He started gingerly at first, but that wasn't really getting him anywhere. Jake knew he had to hold on to the thing properly, but he didn't want to get the gloves dirty. Whimpering a little, Jake 'bit the bullet', so to speak, and picked up the pail.

MENTAL TORTURE!

Every fibre in his body told Jake he should throw the pail at Clark out of the window and sit and rock backwards and forwards. As it was, Jake was flinching and ticcing like a maniac. His head kept jerking backwards and his eyes were doing weird blinky things.

SCRUBSCRUBSCRUB!

And that one was almost done. Jake just needed to rinse off the sponge and go over it. And then maybe do it again. But... wouldn't the water get all dirty? Ewwwww.

But he did it, he had to choke back a few tears... but he did it.

And it vanished.

But... he had more.

Groooaaannnnn.

As Jake kicked over a pail, Clark finished a pan that had minimal damage, and it vanished.

And then he got hit in the leg. OWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

Go on, Clark. he told himself. If Jake can do it, so can you.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub....and one pan was half-done. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. And that pan was all the way done.

One down, somewhere in the seventies to go.

Aaaaaaaaand a quick breather...

... aaaaaaaaaaand on with the show.

Grumblemumble.

Taking one deep breath, Jake reached out and grabbed a bedpan, quite obviously whining and complaining in an incomprehensible way. Stupid tongue. Bleh... so... scrubby thing in the now ridiculously dirty water... then in the bedpan, then scrub scrub scrub...

NO! It just couldn't be CLEAN!

OCD was suckish, no?

Jake would have to go and bathe in bleach later on. SCRUBSCRUBSCRUB.

Aaaaaaaand... kick another bedpan over towards Clark.

Hard.

"Oooowwww!" Clark let out an exclamation of pain. He kicked not one, not two, but THREE bedpans at Jake.

And smiled evilly. "T-t--t-t-ak-ke th-th-tha-that M-m-mis-mister Up-p-p-st-t-ead-d-dd-d!"

But it did hurt his toes. Anyway, scrubbing his pots and pans had become an enjoyable task as he sang inside his head. Meanwhile, Nurse A was reading a book about how to torture your charges and boyfriend. Oh well.

Kick. Clark kicked one of his vomit pails at Jake. Which was still full. And didn't crash down before it got to Jake. And then-it did.

Maniacal laugh-now.

...

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

FLAILFLAILFLAIL!

"HHNNGGHHGHHNGGH!!!!!" Jake yelled, after a bit of the messed splashed onto his leg. EWWWWW EWWW EWWW EWWWWW EWWWWWWWWWWWW!

And so, Jake started kicking his own leg, kick-flail, kick-flail...

Jake had a big ole pile that he could push towards the boy.

But no... no, Jake was a good boy.

And he reached out for another bedpan.

Satisfied with himself, Clark leaned back on the wall.

And immediatley got green smears on the back of his robe. Iccckkkcky!!! However, there was an upside. Clark found himself able to whistle.

Whistle whil he worked. Huh.

He whistled and scrubbed. And scrubbed and whistled. And whistled. And scrubbed.

Scrub... scrub... tic... scrub...

What was that infernal high-pitched noise? Ahhh... Clark was whistling. Well, two could play at that game. But not Jake, because he always had too stick his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Grrrrr.

But when he slammed his jaw shut, his teeth made a rather loud CRACK sound.

Not click. CRACK.

T'was all that sugar.

So, slamming his teeth together every now and then, Jake endeavoured for about ten minutes on one pot. SCRUBSCRUBSCRUB!

Aaaaaaand... *poof*.