We Are Family

by Dragon_MoonX

Summary:

Sem'ja. It's a word that means family in Jumba's language. And yet he's unfamiliar with the concept of love, family and taking care of one another. That is until he comes down with a mysterious illness not long after being exiled on Earth.

Chapter 1

We Are Family

Written for The Great Everlasting Prompt Compendium
Prompt 18: Write a sickfic. No colds or flus permitted, you have to think beyond that.

Disclaimer: all characters, names and locations belong to Disney. I own nothing that you recognize.

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The sun had risen high above the tree tops, filtering through the gap in the curtains. Beside the oversized bed, the curtains gently fluttered in the warm Hawaiian breeze, bringing with it the scent of the local flora.

Despite the late hour of the day, Jumba remained fast asleep in bed, one thick arm covering his eyes to block out the light. His bed, much like the makeshift laboratory he created in his room, was in various stages of disarray. One of the blankets slipped over the edge of the mattress, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The bed itself had partially collapsed under Jumba's immense weight, the padded layers crushed, a few springs poking out at odd angles. Not that Jumba seemed to mind. A little clutter keeps a place looking lived in.

The desk was buried under stacks of papers, books and research notes, a collection of test tubes and beakers, and a few pieces of alien technology. There was also an old computer that displayed complex mathematics and spreadsheets, all of it written in some sort of bizarre alien language that looked suspiciously like an intergalactic version of Russian.

In less than a month Jumba had managed to turn his shared living space into a disaster area. The scattered papers, notebooks and dirty laundry that had started piling up in the corners created the perfect hiding spot for a certain blue alien, his furry form burrowing into the nest of stained fabric and crumpled paper.

Admittedly, Jumba found this behavior rather amusing. He would venture into the room he shared with Pleakley, only to watch the little critter turning in circles before bedding down like a dog. Today, however, Jumba wasn't in the best of moods, a nagging stomachache and lingering sense of malaise combining to produce one very irritable alien.

"Come on, Jumba," Pleakley called out, entering their bedroom and flinging the curtains wide open. "Up and at 'em, sleepyhead. It's almost noon."

The scientist grumbled in response, blinking at the bright light that poured into their room. One of his massive limbs slid off the mattress, sitting up slowly and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He could hear the sound of Lilo's laughter floating down the hall, followed by the sporadic bursts of alien chatter from his creation. Just another source of background noise. Insignificant, not worth his time.

"Jumba," Pleakley said, moving closer to the bed. He stopped beside the pile of flattened mattresses, examining Jumba's pale complexion. "You've been looking a little off lately. Maybe it's time to get outside, enjoy some of this fresh air and sunshine." He gestured towards the window, the swaying palms dipping their branches in the warm breeze.

Grumbling and muttering in his native language, Jumba waved off his concern. "Is not so bad. Am still adjusting to new environment. It is much warmer than home planet," he said, lifting a hand and wiping the perspiration from his brow.

Never one to be discouraged by his companion's less than positive demeanor, Pleakley placed his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a parent gently scolding their child. "It's more than that, Jumba. You're not the spry young evil genius you used to be. You can't keep living like you did back home. For the sake of your health, and our living arrangement with the humans, we need to keep this place clean."

"Excusing me for attempt at replicate home on Quelte Quan," Jumba muttered, finally pushing himself to his feet and standing in the cluttered mess that filled their room. "Old habits, you know. I am... how you say, used to former lifestyle of scientific experiments, working late nights and not having anyone to do cleaning." He then picked up one of the dirty socks that had settled on the floor next to his bed. "You is realizing that this belonging to you, correct? Jumba is not having oversized booties for feets."

Pleakley rolled his eye. "Be that as it may, we still need to keep this place clean and tidy. Your health might improve if you weren't living in a nuclear dumpster like you did in the laboratory." He reached out and ran one of his slender fingers along the top of the bookshelf. "Look at this. There's dust and filth everywhere."

His eyes narrowed, and despite his persistent fatigue, Jumba swatted at Pleakley's hand. "Keeping hands to yourself," he snapped, his words coming out harsher than he'd intended. "I did not ask to be here with these Earth creatures."

"Now Jumba, I understand that this is a big change," Pleakley calmly stated, trying his best to sympathize with his companion. "You probably aren't as thrilled to be here as I am. All the more reason why you need someone to help you adjust to life on Earth. Say perhaps someone who just so happens to be an expert on this watery sphere."

The scientist grudgingly agreed, knowing deep down that his companion was right. "Da, I know. But where to start?"

Pleakley, ever the optimist, clapped his hands together. "First things first, we need to clean up this mess!" He immediately started gathering up the empty bottles and dirty dishes scattered around the room. "Stitch, can you help me with this?"

The furry alien popped out of a pile of laundry on the floor, wearing an empty bag of chips like a hat. He shook off the crumbs, climbing out of the pile and up the wall, his claws clicking against the wooden surface. Tilting his head at an angle, he surveyed the scene below, hesitating slightly before joining Pleakley in his mission to clean the room.

While they worked on tidying up, Jumba slumped into a chair beside his desk. He was overcome by a sudden way of dizziness, the room spinning and turning on its side. Gripping the armrests, the scientist felt his heart pounding against his ribs, his energy levels plummeting the moment he tried walking across the floor. A groan dribbled past his lips, his pudgy fingers sinking into the plush material to keep from sliding onto the floor.

Pleakley, noticing his companion's discomfort, stopped for a moment. "Jumba, why don't you lie down?" he said, never taking his eye off Jumba's rotund figure. The scientist sank further down in his seat, one hand holding his stomach. "You don't look so good."

His eyes partially closed, Jumba felt the floor tilt under his feet. "Maybe... maybe blood sugar is low," he said, his voice low and groggy. "Not used to these Earth foods yet." Taking a deep breath, he managed to steady himself, rising slowly from his seat and returning to the bed. With a weary groan, he all but collapsed against the mattress.

"Either that or something you ate disagreed with your system," said Pleakley, depositing a pile of empty water bottles and wrappers into the trash bin.

It wasn't long until exhaustion caught up with him, his eyes closing as Pleakley and Stitch continued to work. In a foggy state of half-sleep, Jumba could hear the hum of the vacuum and the occasional clink of empty cans and bottles rustling against a trash bag. After several years of isolation in the depths of space, the sound provided a soothing background noise as he lingered on the edge of sleep.

.oOo.

Waking up was a slow process, nearly two hours later. Though he didn't have an explanation for it, Jumba had started feeling ill not long after they arrived on Earth. He'd spent much of his time doing research and analyzing things in the environment, such as air, water and soil samples, in hopes of figuring out what the problem was. His brilliant mind was naturally drawn towards science and research anyway. But when the tests failed to produce an answer, Jumba was left wondering what was making him feel so rotten.

By the time he woke up from his nap, Pleakly and Stitch had the room much cleaner than it was when he had gone to sleep. They even managed to coax some laughter and smiles out of each other, which helped to lighten the mood.

As Jumba opened his eyes and slowly sat up in bed, he noticed that the windows were open to let in the fresh breeze. The scent of blooming flowers had replaced the stale scent of leftovers and chemicals, making everything feel lighter, better somehow. He also noticed that his companion had changed into a frilly maid outfit.

"Ah, Jumba, you're awake!" Pleakley called out. He set aside his cleaning supplies, bagging the last of the trash before moving towards the bed, the ruffles on his dress swishing with every step. "We've made some decent progress, and I found a book with all these healthy Earth recipes we could use to improve your diet." He whipped out the book he found, opening the pages to a colorful fruit salad recipe. "What do you think? Looks yummy right?"

Jumba briefly studied the image on the page before shifting towards Pleakley's clothing. "Where is you getting that?" he asked, his fingers closing around the layers of fabric and lace. "I thought bigger girl was saying no more clothes shopping with credit card."

"This," Pleakly stated, brushing Jumba's hand away from the rows of lace, "is considered typical Earth cleaning attire. If one is going to adapt to life in a new world, then one must also be dressed appropriately for each daily task."

"One is giving me a headache," Jumba groaned, massaging his temples.

But Pleakley wasn't listening. He was already on his way downstairs to start preparing a healthy meal for his newfound family.

Sighing heavily, Jumba moved towards the side of the mattress, his feet making contact with the hardwood floor. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, a low groan slid past his lips. It was incredibly frustrating, knowing that his genius was going to waste in a place like this. Even if he could conduct his usual experiments, these pitiful Earth creatures wouldn't understand. They wouldn't appreciate his superior intellect. Pleakley wasn't much better. He was smart enough, but his only interest was studying the latest fashion trends.

"What kind of punishment is this?" Jumba grumbled, slowly lowering his hands and gazing about at his surroundings. The collection of books and scientific equipment on the desk was a far cry from what he was used to. It was a pathetic excuse for the former glory of his old lab. But it was all he had left, some of the materials brought from home, others improvised along the way.

The more he thought about his current situation, the more frustrated he became. Much like his creation, Jumba had been exiled to Earth to spend the rest of his days with the Pelekai family. They had to know how much this would torment him, being unable to return to his lab and continue his scientific pursuits. At the same time, they must have also realized that his creation couldn't be left alone without someone who understood his nature and biology. Jumba was to live with Stitch, guiding and monitoring his creation, while also learning proper law-abiding behavior. Or so they hoped.

He remembered the day he was arrested and brought before the Grand Council Woman, shortly after his failed attempt to capture his creation. He closed his eyes, the scene replaying in his mind.

"Think of it as a long term sentence with the possibility of parole if you behave," stated the Grand Council Woman. Her tone left no room for argument. It was either this or get sent back to the prison asteroid where he had originally been sentenced.

At first, Jumba had been outraged, refusing to be cooperate with the rules set in place. "What is you taking me for?" he roared, struggling against his restraints. "Some kind of lunatic?!"

He clenched his fists within their metal confinements, his hulking form quivering with barely suppressed rage. He was well aware of the galactic law enforcement present on the beach, their plasma guns aimed at his chest, but he was too far gone to care. He was an evil genius, the most accomplished scientist in the galaxy. They couldn't treat him like this.

Though it went against his best judgement, Pleakley swallowed the lump in his throat and chanced taking a step forward. "Jumba, please," he whispered in his ear, trying desperately to calm the raging scientist. His slender appendages wrapped around Jumba's massive frame, grasping his shoulders as he leaned in close. "You're lucky they haven't suggested commiting you to a mental hospital. And with that type of behavior, they very well could if you don't learn to control yourself."

Jumba turned on him in the span of a single heartbeat, shifting his massive bulk and driving his elbow into Pleakley's side. Releasing him with a frightened squeak, the one-eyed alien tumbled to the ground, cowering beneath the mad scientist. Closing his eye, Pleakley covered his face with a trembling arm, awaiting the blow that never came.

"Why do you care?" Jumba snarled, furious at the thought of being institutionalized. "You is not even knowing me before this!" His eyes narrowed, his chest heaving with each shuddering breath, struggling to maintain his composure as he glared at the trembling alien on the ground. If he wanted to, he could have easily squished him like the pathetic insect that he was. It was tempting, very tempting. So what was holding him back? 

All eyes were on them now, both human and alien alike. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the waves, the palm leaves a distant rustle in the background.

Lowering his hands, Pleakley propped himself up with his elbows in the sand, gazing directly at the enraged scientist. "Not personally, no," Pleakley admitted. "Though many have heard of your genius. And while I can't even begin to comprehend what's going on in your head, I know you aren't foolish enough to throw everything away like this."

Silence followed his words. Jumba took a step back, taking a moment to process what had been said.

"You have the opportunity for something greater, something better than this," Pleakley continued, still laying on his back in the sand. A pause, and then he quietly added, "I still believe in you."

Though his heart was pounding fiercely against his ribcage, Jumba managed a deep breath, slowly turning to face the Grand Council Woman. He could still get out of this, he just had to think, lie low for a while.

His shoulders sinking, Jumba reluctantly allowed them to place the tracking device around his ankle, the metal clasp clicking as it locked in place. It had been almost a month now, the device still held in place as he sat on the edge of his mattress, thinking about the choices he had made that lead to this.

He lowered his hand, reaching down and feeling the cold, alien metal beneath his calloused fingers. What was this thing they called ohana? Is that what Pleakley was talking about when he said he still believed in him? It was frustrating, not being able to comprehend such behavior, such weakness. His fingers tightened around the ankle monitor, the lights steadily shining red and blue. They didn't care about him. And even if they did, it would only lead to them making some very foolish decisions. He was sure of it.

Notes:

This is the first time I've ever been so angry that I felt the need to write a fix-it fic. The live action remake ruined my beloved Jumba. I am absolutely disgusted by what they did to him. I had to do this. I had to make things right, but with a bit of a twist.

This story will combine scenes and elements from both the original 2002 film and the 2025 remake. Jumba still has his accent, but he starts off with a change in his personality, making him slightly meaner than the original (because unfortunately, that's what Disney gave us in the remake). It's also a reversal of the Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has A Glitch movie. This time around it's Jumba who's health is deteriorating, and he will need Stitch's help in order to survive the ordeal.

There's also a bit of my personal headcanon in this one. I believe that Jumba's native language is a type of intergalactic Russian, and that he invented Tantalog in order to communicate his plans with his experiments in secret. His version of Russian isn't exactly the same as what is spoken on Earth, but it's similar enough that if he were to meet someone who spoke the version we have here, he would be able to understand enough of it that he could carry on a conversation with them. I also have Jumba using Russian words and phrases in my stories.

Also, some minor changes. Jumba still shares a bunk bed with Pleakley, but he has the bottom bed. Seeing him in the live action remake made me realize just how huge this guy really is. Seriously, he's got to be over six foot tall, weighing close to four hundred pounds. There is no way you could get him into the top bunk without the bed collapsing under his weight.

One last thing. You see that crossdressing tag? That's right, my boy Pleakley is going to wear his dresses and nobody will tell me otherwise. #letthemanwearhisdress

Chapter 2

After a while, Jumba pushed himself off the mattress, grunting with exertion as the bedsprings squealed in protest. If these humans and their precious ohana were going to be so careless, then it was only a matter of time before their compassionate nature lead to their downfall. In the meantime, he would have to behave himself, waiting for the precise moment to strike.

Turning slightly and squeezing through the doorway, the scientist made his way downstairs, taking the steps carefully as they creaked beneath his weight. Though he didn't like to admit it, Jumba hadn't been feeling well ever since he was exiled on Earth. It wasn't that long of a walk from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen, and yet he was huffing and puffing like he'd just run a marathon. His chest felt tight, and as he reached the final step, Jumba paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

The scent of fresh fruit and delicate herbs wafted from the kitchen, drawing his attention as he paused to catch his breath. A human would find these fragrances warm and comforting, familiar even. And yet nothing on this planet felt familiar. None of it felt like home. He watched for a while, sitting on the steps as Pleakley stood at the kitchen counter, chopping a rainbow of fruits. The sight was enough to make his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He wondered if these humans would mind if he tried making something in the kitchen. No, of course they wouldn't. They'd probably see it as Jumba trying to integrate with the family, which was exactly what he wanted. To pull the wool over their eyes just long enough to gain their trust.

Jumba forced himself onto his feet with a bit of effort, using the banister to steady his movements. "What are you making?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he entered the kitchen.

"We're making a healthy and nutritional meal," Pleakley said, his tone a bit more enthusiastic than one would expect from the simple act of cooking. "The humans call this a fruit salad. It's quite fascinating, the combination of colors and the delightful aroma. And not only that, it matches my outfit." He motioned towards his dress, which was bright pink with pictures of cherries on it. "Have to coordinate food with fashion, you know."

Curious, Jumba picked up a brown fruit. "What is this?" he queried, turning it over in his hands.

"That is a kiwi," Pleakley said, smiling proudly. "It's from New Zealand. It's very healthy, high in vitamins and low in calories. Perfect for your new diet plan."

"Is covered in fur."

"That's the skin," Pleakley patiently explained. "You have to peel it off first." He demonstrated by slicing the kiwi in half and scooping out the bright green flesh with a spoon. "See? Delicious and nutritious."

"So this planet is having hairy produce," Jumba said, raising an eyebrow at the questionable fruit. "Must be what little girl was talking about, referring to Jumba as hairy potato."

Pleakley chuckled at Jumba's observation, his antenna twitching with amusement. "It's all part of the Earth experience, Jumba. And speaking of experiences, we've got quite the spread here. Besides the kiwi, we have some apples, grapes, mango, cherries and pineapple. All great for boosting your energy and health," he said, gesturing to the fruits on the counter. Meanwhile, Stitch continued to watch the pair of aliens at the counter, holding a knife in one paw and a pineapple in the other. It was clear that the little critter was eager to contribute, though he might require some guidance.

"626 has right idea," Jumba said, nodding towards his creation. "Best recipe is making salad with very much pineapple fruits. But also boiled chicken, black pepper, whipped cream, ice cream, and macaroni."

"You put macaroni and ice cream in a salad?" Pleakly made a face, his lip curling in disgust. "That can't be good for your health, Jumba."

"Is macaroni salad." The scientist shrugged, patting Pleakley on the shoulder. "What else am I doing to make these Earth foods more palatable?" His gaze returned to the green fruit, considering it for a moment before taking a tentative bite.

The texture was awful, feeling slick and slimy against his tongue. Quickly turning away from his companion, Jumba gagged and fought against the urge to vomit. It was only with a substantial amount of effort that he managed to swallow the offending morsel before backing away from Pleakley's colorful assortment of fruits.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Jumba watched as Pleakley and Stitch worked together to prepare the fruit salad. Their cooperation was heartwarming, though judging by the sneer that formed on his lips, the evil genius wasn't exactly thrilled to see his creation being used in such a positive manner. It was such a waste, knowing what Stitch was capable of, and yet he had to sit there and watch as his ultimate creation was reduced to mere kitchen assistant.

In an effort to distract himself from the wholesome sight taking place in the kitchen, Jumba turned his attention towards a bowl of fruit that had been placed at the center of the table. He plucked an apple from the bowl, examining it briefly before taking a bite.

"Is it good?" Pleakley asked, smiling and glancing over his shoulder.

"Is not bad," Jumba admitted, though he was clearly struggling with the foreign texture. "Needs ice cream, though."

"Fabulous!" Pleakley chirped, clapping his hands together. He spun around, the hem of his dress twirling as he reached for the handle on the refrigerator. Taking a moment to examine its contents, the one-eyed alien spied some eggs and whole grain bread at the back of the fridge. "Ah, this looks appetizing. How about we make omelets for dinner and have them with the fruit salad?"

"Of course, we is doing science in Earth kitchen, yes?" Jumba said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic.

"Why, yes. You could say that cooking is indeed a science." Returning to the fridge, Pleakley started gathering ingredients for the omelets. "We could use some onions, bell peppers, and cheese. Maybe a bit of milk and some herbs for flavor. Oh, and some vegetable oil for the pan." He paused, pulling out a few blocks of various cheeses. "Cheese is a dairy product, right? We've got cheddar, mozzarella, and... swiss?" He looked to Jumba for confirmation.

Forcing a look of mild amusement on his face, Jumba rose from his seat, taking the ingredients from Pleakley and heading to the counter, where a well-seasoned frying pan awaited his culinary creation. "Da, mozzarella is good," he muttered, his smile fading the moment he had his back turned. Seizing the pan from a rack above the stove, the scientist dropped it on the burner with a bit more force than necessary, the metal thud reverberating off the walls.

As Jumba started chopping the onions, the pungent aroma made his eyes water. "Why Earth vegetable do this to me?" he grumbled, sniffling and wiping his streaming eyes with his sleeve.

He cracked the eggs into a bowl, then added a splash of milk and a pinch of herbs, whisking the mixture with a bit more enthusiasm than he expected. Before long the smell of the sautéing onions and peppers filled the kitchen, mingling with the light, fruity scent of the salad.

Stitch, having finished with the pineapple, approached his creator. "Can Stitch help?" he asked, holding up a block of cheese.

Jumba waved a hand, sniffling from the onion fumes. "No, no, I am doing it, 626. But you can keeping me company."

Pleakley, noticing his companion's streaming, watery eyes, quickly took over the chopping. "You focus on the eggs," he said kindly, moving to stand beside Jumba at the counter. "I'll handle the onions."

Moving aside, Jumba allowed the one-eyed alien to take over the vegetable preparation. Stitch plopped down on the kitchen floor, slathering the block of cheese in a generous portion of saliva while his creator stirred the eggs. The munching and slurping sounds faded into the background, mingling with the sizzle and dance of the hot oil. The entire process felt strangely satisfying, with Stitch by his side as Pleakley placed the chopped vegetables into the pan. The colorful array of peppers and onions blended with the eggs, creating a vibrant, albeit oddly shaped, omelet.

"You know, I think I'm getting pretty good at this," Pleakley stated, beaming with pride. "We can flip these like cakepans, right?"

Jumba glanced upwards, where the remnants of Pleakley's last culinary disaster was still embedded in the ceiling. "I am thinking that not good idea." The words had barely left his mouth when the sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation. The girls were outside on the porch, returning from work and school at the end of the day. "626, you go practice good manners," Jumba said, reaching into the silverware drawer and pulling out the necessary utensils. "Set table for humans."

"Ih." It wasn't much of a response, but it was enough to let his creator know that he was on it.

Stitch darted around the kitchen in a blur of movement, flinging silverware in every direction. Pleakly let out a yelp when one of the knives soared past his head, narrowly missing his shoulder and sticking in the wall. Unable to conceal his amusement at the sight of his startled companion, Jumba burst out laughing, the sound ending abruptly in a fit of coughing just as Nani and Lilo walked in.

"Hey, that's not funny!" Pleakley reached up, his slender fingers closing around the strap of his dress where the fabric had been grazed by the knife. "I almost had a wardrobe malfunction!"

"Do I want to know what we walked in on?" Lilo asked hesitantly.

Coughing and clearing his throat, Jumba wiped his eyes. "Is nothing. We are preparing foods for nutritious meal with family." He gestured towards the table, a spoon sticking straight up in one of the bowls of fruit salad. That's right, put emphasis on doing something good for the... what did they call it? Ohana? Yes, of course, that'll make everything appear perfectly normal.

Jumba moved towards the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and motioning for Nani to sit. For the time being, he would act friendly towards these people, even though it irked him to no end having to be nice to them. They didn't notice the muscle twitching over one of his eyes as Nani slid her chair into place, nor did they see the way he clenched his fist around the back of her chair, leaning over and forcing a smile on his face.

"So what's the occasion?" Nani asked, spearing a piece of fruit with her fork.

"No occasion. Jumba decide to make meal for family." The word tasted bitter on his tongue. They weren't his family. They probably didn't even want him here.

Still eager to be of use, Stitch leapt onto the counter and started serving the omelets onto plates, though he was moving so fast the eggs went flying everywhere. In a moment of quick thinking, his extended his extra set of limbs, using them to catch the food before it could splatter on the floor. Most of it anyway.

Looking up from the mess he made, Stitch grinned sheepishly, his ears drooping. Jumba sighed, taking the spatula from his creation.

"No, 626, letting me do it. Humans is not appreciating big mess on kitchen floor." The scientist scooped the omelets onto the plates, ensuring everyone received an equal portion. Meanwhile, Pleakley was putting the finishing touches on the napkins he'd meticulously sculpted into the shape of flowers. He held each one delicately, making sure they were just right before gently placing them on the table.

"Remember, Jumba, it's important that the presentation be visually stimulating," Pleakley reminded him. "Humans appreciate a meal that looks as good as it tastes."

"And we is consuming paper squares too, yes?" Jumba asked, holding up one of Pleakley's blossoming napkins. Though he noticed a hint of sarcasm in his voice, the one-eyed alien still managed a slight chuckle, retrieving his flower and placing it back on the table.

Lilo's eyes widened as she took her first bite. "Mmm, Jumba! This is the best omelet I've ever had!" Her sister smiled, taking a more cautious bite.

"It's not bad," Nani said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I didn't know you could cook."

Taking a seat at the table, Jumba managed his first genuine smile. "I can do more than the sciencing," he said, casually tossing one of Pleakley's designer napkins over his shoulder and onto the floor. Looking over at his creation, he noticed Stitch eyeing the chips and salsa longingly from the counter. "No, 626. Tonight we eat good with family. No junk."

Stitch pouted but obediently took a bite of the fruit salad, which was a vibrant mix of sweet and tangy flavors. The meal was met with nods and approval from those gathered around the table. Even Stitch, after a few suspicious sniffs, devoured his food. It was a sight that stirred something in his chest, seeing his creation happily eating the meal he'd made.

Like a parent feeding his young, Jumba slowly lowered his fork, watching the slobber dripping from Stitch's lips as the furry creature hastily shoveled the fruit into his mouth. It was a peculiar feeling, something akin to parental affection beginning to take root. Jumba had never really taken the time to observe his creation outside of the laboratory setting. It had always been numbers, charts and graphs, strictly for the purpose of furthering his research.

"One moment, 626." Reaching across the table, Jumba swiped one of Pleakley's floral napkins, using it to wipe the drool from the corner of Stitch's mouth.

His creation, still a bit hesitant after what had taken place aboard the spaceship, uttered a low growl, his ears flattening against his head. More than anything else, he seemed confused by this affectionate gesture. But then he caught a whiff of the fruit juice that clung to the napkin, his nostrils twitching.

Opening his mouth wide, Stitch clamped down on the napkin, shaking his head like a playful puppy. Knowing his creation's strength, Jumba released the napkin. "626, what am I to be doing with you?" he said, sighing in exasperation.

"Hmm?" Stitch tilted his head, the shredded napkin dangling from his jaws. Sensing the shift in mood, he slumped slightly in his chair. "Stitch sorry," he muttered, his voice small. "Stitch make mess."

"Is okay, 626. Everyone makes mistakes." He gently tugged the remains of the napkin from Stitch's mouth, smiling a little. "We learn now, yes?"

"Ih!" Stitch nodded, wagging his little pom-pom tail.

As the last of the fruit salad was eaten and the dishes neatly arranged in the dishwasher, Jumba could feel the beginnings of a stomachache taking shape in his midsection. He leaned back in his seat, massaging his bloated belly. "I think I am to be lying down. Food feels... heavy."

Pleakley took another bite of his dinner, motioning towards Jumba with his fork. "I told you that not eating properly would make you sick."

The scientist responded with a snarl, crumpling one of the napkins and throwing it across the table at Pleakley. Not wanting them to cause a scene, Nani intervened on Jumba's behalf, suggesting that he turn in early while she finished cleaning up after dinner. Eager to get away from the pack of earthlings, Jumba pushed his chair out and slowly got to his feet. There was a tightness in his chest, making it difficult to draw a full breath. Though wether or not it was from the indigestion or something else he couldn't be sure.

"I don't think he feels good," Pleakley said once Jumba was out of earshot. "We might want to keep an eye on him. Sometimes it can be difficult for non-native species to adapt to life on a new planet."

"What's the matter with him?" Lilo asked, standing on her tiptoes and lowering a stack of dirty dishes into the sink. Though her tone carried a hint of curiosity, it was clear that she was concerned about the newest member of their family.

"I don't know," Pleakley said with a shrug. "It could be food intolerance, difficulty adjusting to the new environment, an illness. Without proper observation and diagnosis, it's difficult to say what's been troubling him."

"You know, despite everything he's put you through, I've noticed you seem to really care about him," Nani said, looking up from scrubbing a particularly stubborn piece of egg off one of the plates.

"Oh, I know what it looks like. But Jumba's not as evil as he wants everyone to believe." Rising from the table, the one-eyed alien added his bowl to the collection of dishes in the sink. "All things considered, he could have done much worse. He could have abandoned me after he accidentally shot me with the tranquilizer, but instead he chose to drag me all the way back to the hotel. Could have done without the limp noodle comments, though. That stung a bit. His words, I mean."

Sitting on the floor, Stitch tilted his head, listening intently to their conversation. His ears perked up at the mention of his creator possibly being sick. Earlier in the day, he had picked up on the scent of something unusual. Something that smelled suspiciously like the warm, fetid stench of a growing infection. His claws clicking across the linoleum, the furry alien padded across the kitchen and towards the stairs, thinking that it might be worth checking up on his creator.

Notes:

Yes, I know that I just published this story and now I'm updating it already. This story is kind of long and I want to advance the plot a little. After this update, I'll let it sit for a while. I have the entire story written (worked on it every day for a month, fueled by my rage at that horrible remake), so my goal is for weekly updates during my days off from work.

This chapter was difficult to write because I had to change Jumba's personality to match what we were given in the live action remake. It honestly felt like I was writing him out of character, which should really tell the people over at Disney that they're doing something wrong, in my opinion.

Also, fun fact. I Googled Russian fruit salad and it showed me that recipe with ice cream, chicken, whipped cream, all that goodness. Lol Dragon is much amuse. :3

Aside from all that, we still have some of the usual humor, which is nice. We also have our first Jumba and Stitch bonding moment. Though I think it'll be awhile before they start getting close to each other. Until next time, have fun guessing what Jumba's mystery illness could be. 🌺

Chapter 3

By the time Jumba reached their shared bedroom, he was overcome by another wave of dizziness, the room spinning as he leaned heavily against the doorframe. He took a tentative step forward, feeling as though the floor was going to slide out from under his feet. It was a miracle he managed to make it to his bed, staggering sideways and collapsing against the mattress, the bedsprings groaning in protest against his weight.

He lay still for several minutes, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his roiling insides. A feeble moan dribbled past his lips, his stomach burning with a deep, piercing ache. When the nausea finally began to subside, Jumba tried rolling over and finding a more comfortable position, the fabric of the pillowcase sticking to his damp forehead. The cool evening breeze filtered through the curtains, doing little to ease the heat that was steadily rising beneath the collar of his shirt. For a while he drifted in a haze, listening to the distant voices beneath the floorboards. Though it offered little comfort, feeling as though he were all alone in this strange new world.

They didn't want him here. Why would they? He was a prisoner here, exiled to an island in the middle of nowhere, left to rot in the backwaters of some galactic cesspit. Nobody cared what happened to him now.

It was with this final thought that Jumba finally sank into the depths of slumber, his thoughts wandering over the countless nights spent in his laboratory. It was a time when his every waking moment had been consumed by the pursuit of knowledge and power, driving him to conduct more research, more experiments, his curiosity matched only by his own cruelty.

He believed that emotions were for the weak minded individuals who couldn't stomach sacrificing the lives of others for scientific purposes. A multitude of genetically modified life forms had been born of his twisted mind, with even more lost in the process. Jumba had never allowed such weaknesses to influence his decisions. He had always been the one in control, the provider of solutions, the brilliant mind responsible for the advancement in genetic engineering. And now, lying in bed with the beginnings of illness starting to take hold, the feeling of vulnerability that came with being sick was both foreign and unsettling for such an accomplished scientist.

He continued to drift in and out of a restless sleep, the silence punctuated by fits of coughing and occasional groans of discomfort. It wasn't until some time later when Jumba was jolted awake by the sensation of something cold and wet on his forehead. A low gasp sounded in the darkness of his room, his eyes opening wide in the moonlight. Blinking slowly, Jumba could just make out the silhouette of his creation hovering close by, his eyes gradually becoming used to the darkness of their shared bedroom.

"Jumba sick," Stitch murmured, holding a drippy washcloth in his paws. Moving cautiously, he pushed himself up onto his hind legs, his nose twitching as he once again picked up on the scent of infection.

"626, what are you doing?" Jumba asked, pushing the cloth away with a grumble. The last thing he wanted right now was a reminder of how his creation had strayed from his original programming.

Stitch's ears wilted, hanging limp at his sides. "Stitch help. Jumba hot."

"Eh?" Jumba held the back of his hand against his forehead, realization slowly dawning on him when he felt the heat radiating off his skin. The layer of soft hair that covered his scalp was damp with perspiration, and he had started shivering.

For a moment he stared at his creation in bewilderment. This miniature fuzzball was actually trying to help. In his feverish state, he once again found himself struggling to comprehend such behavior. It was puzzling, to say the least. However, Jumba was in no fit state to argue with his creation.

"Ah, thank you," Jumba said, allowing Stitch to place the damp washcloth on his forehead. Unfortunately, his creation wasn't exactly programmed in the selfless art of caregiving, preferring to drop the sodden cloth directly onto his creator's face.

"Stitch help?" he repeated, his furry features coming into view as Jumba lifted the washcloth off his face.

"Of course," Jumba said through gritted teeth, repositioning the washcloth on his forehead. He placed his hand on Stitch's back, pushing him off to the side. "Now go. Sit."

His mission accomplished, Stitch curled up on the mattress next to his creator, his presence offering a small comfort. The hours passed in silence, until Jumba shifted in his sleep, reaching over and draping his arm around the blue lump of fur. This was the scene when Pleakley entered the room, dressed in a lightweight nightgown as he started getting ready for bed.

"Jumba?" Pleakly's voice was quiet, opening the door and approaching the bed. Stitch's ears perked up, instantly awake and alert as the one-eyed alien switched on the bedside lamp. "How is he?" Pleakley asked, looking from Stitch to Jumba's sleeping form.

"Not good," Stitch said, slowly shaking his head. He wriggled out from underneath Jumba's arm, chattering in his native language while gesturing towards the washcloth, which had warmed considerably due to the heat from Jumba's fever.

Pleakley's face fell, his singular eye taking in the sight of Jumba's flushed features. The scientist was still asleep, mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling with harsh, wheezing breaths. 

"Oh dear. This isn't good. This isn't good at all." Pleakley anxiously fiddled with the sleeve of his nightgown, glancing around the room as though searching for something or someone that could help. When the sound of Nani's footsteps caught his attention, he quickly sprinted out into the hall, informing her of Jumba's condition.

"I told you he isn't feeling well. I can tell just from looking at him. For all we know this could be potentially lethal, or maybe even contagious. We don't know how his body will react to the microorganisms on this planet. And not only that - "

"Hmm?" Jumba opened his eyes, blinking in the light of the bedside lamp. He could hear Pleakley's panicked voice carrying down the hall, coupled with the sound of his feet slapping against the floor as the one-eyed alien ushered Nani into their room.

"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here," Nani said, kneeling beside the bed. While she wasn't exactly a parental figure, her time spent caring for her little sister had taught her a thing or two about dealing with illness. She reached towards the scientist, and for a moment he was still, staring in bewilderment as she lifted the washcloth and held the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Excusing me, but uh... what are you doing?" Jumba asked, feeling thoroughly confused by her behavior. He'd never been cared for like this, not even during his youth. It was part of his past that had taught him to be independent at a young age, relying on his intelligence and scientific skills.

"Pleakley told me that you have a fever. Though I can see that Stitch has already been helping with that." She moved her hand downwards, feeling his cheek, which was also hot to the touch. "You're burning up," she said, her voice filled with genuine concern. "I think we should take your temperature. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Is just... Earth sickness," Jumba insisted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "It will pass." The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a sudden surge of pain lancing his abdomen. His hand closed around the fabric of his blanket, directly over his stomach. "Jumba is not... Jumba is not needing your assistance," he hissed through his teeth, wincing in pain.

Try as he might, Jumba wasn't fooling anyone. Nani and Pleakley exchanged concerned looks, while Stitch sat on the foot of the bed, watching the scene unfold with his usual curiosity.

"I'll get the thermometer." And with that Pleakley vanished in a flurry of ruffles and pastel fabric, heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

Stitch, ever the eager helper, tilted his head to the side. "Stitch get medicine?"

"Let's hold off on the medicine for a while," Nani replied, taking a seat beside him on the bed. "We don't know if our medicine is safe for..." She paused, looking down at the four-eyed scientist. "For alien life forms. But you can bring me a bowl of water for his fever. And be careful with it!" she hastily added, seeing the little blue alien rocket out of the room at lightning speed.

Jumba watched him go, one hand holding his ample belly. "Must... must be delirious..." he groaned. This was followed by another coughing episode, each spasm stabbing his chest with searing pain. Finally, as the coughing subsided, Jumba slumped against the pillows, his sight swimming. Surely this had to be a product of his feverish mind. Stitch had learned empathy and compassion from the humans, but why would he try to help the man who manipulated him into leaving his family?

Despite Jumba's initial skepticism, his creation was quick to return, carrying a bowl of tepid water which he placed on the nightstand. Though he tried not to spill the water, several drops cascaded over the side, landing with a splash on the hardwood floor.

Grinning sheepishly, Stitch backed away from the bed, expecting Nani to scold him for making a mess. Instead, he received a muttered thanks and a pat on the head, her attention focused on his creator as she refreshed the washcloth in the bowl of water, wringing out the excess and placing the cloth on Jumba's forehead.

The skittering of Pleakley's footsteps announced his return moments later. "Come on now, this will only take a minute," he said, trying to coax Jumba into opening his mouth.

He received a fierce glare from the ailing scientist, who despite being in a weakened state was no less intimidating. Fortunately, Pleakley had the patience to deal with his uncooperative patient, and after a few minutes of gentle persuasion Jumba complied with the request, allowing Pleakley to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

The seconds crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace, until finally the silence of the room was interrupted by the electronic beep. Pleakley's singular brow furrowed, holding the thermometer up to read the digital numbers. "Jumba, your temperature is... is ninety-nine point eight," he announced to the room, his voice trembling slightly. "For a human, this would be considered a mild fever. But for you..." His voice trailed off into silence, his eye widening as he double-checked the readout.

"So what exactly does that mean?" Nani asked, her tone mirroring his visible concern.

"It means that a temperature of ninety-nine point eight is actually quite substantial," said Pleakley, trying to keep his tone professional despite his growing anxiety. "You see, Nani, Jumba is from an alien race known as the Kweltikwan. Their average internal temperature is a few degrees cooler than you earthlings. Normally, his species operates at a temperature of ninety-six point eight. So with it being much higher, this would be the equivalent of - "

"One-hundred and one degrees," Nani interrupted, quickly doing the math in her head. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Do we know what's causing this?"

Pleakley's long, slender fingers knitted together, fretting over his companion's health and well being. "It's hard to say, Nani. This planet has bacteria and viruses that our bodies are not accustomed to. It could even be something as simple as a change in climate, or something in the air or water that Jumba's body isn't used to. For all we know, his immune system could be overreacting to a common element in this new environment."

"Alright, let's not panic." Nani dipped the washcloth into the bowl of water, dabbing at Jumba's face and neck before placing it back on his forehead. "Let's try to keep him comfortable so he can rest and get better. Maybe he just needs a couple days to fight off... whatever this is."

"It would also help if we got him changed into something more comfortable," Pleakley added.

"No!" Jumba propped himself up on his elbows, the washcloth slipping down his face and covering three of his eyes. "Am not to be wearing frilly nightie!"

Nani gently placed her hand on Jumba's shoulder. "Easy now. I'm sure we can find something for you to wear that didn't come out of Pleakley's private wardrobe."

By working together, Nani and Pleakley did their best to make Jumba comfortable. They brought in a fan and opened the window, helping to lower the temperature of the room. They also got him changed into an oversized nightshirt and provided him with a small, lightweight blanket so he wouldn't get overheated.

It was well past midnight when Jumba finally started to feel some relief from his symptoms. Though he would still cough occasionally, the herbal tea that Pleakley made helped to ease the scratchiness in his throat. Together with Nani's care, plenty of fluids, and a cool compress, Jumba was finally able to go back to sleep, one thick arm dangling over the side of the mattress.

Pleakley had already fallen asleep while looking through an intergalactic medical textbook, searching for anything which might resemble Jumba's illness. Meanwhile, Stitch had curled up on the foot of the bed and was also asleep, dreaming about coconut cake and marshmallows.

Feeling satisfied with the progress they had made, Nani decided to retire for the evening, though she would be sure to check on him first thing in the morning before going to work. She dimmed the lights in their room, taking one last took at the sleeping scientist before returning to her room.

.oOo.

The house was quiet, the sounds of the day's activities replaced by the soft hum of the nighttime appliances. In the stillness of the night, Jumba dreams were plagued with nightmarish images of experiments gone awry, the looming shadow of the Galactic Council constantly hovering over him. Every time he woke up, the room appeared to tilt and sway before settling back into place, his eyes closing once more before the feverish dreams took hold.

He awoke some time around four in the morning, the room illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. Pleakley was still there, his antenna twitching in his sleep as he slumped in the chair beside the desk. Stitch, ever vigilant, was curled up at the foot of the bed, watching over him while he slept.

"Jumba okay?" Stitch whispered, sensing his creator's movement.

"I'm..." Jumba began, his voice trailing off as he turned his gaze towards the window. The moon was shining brightly amongst the stars, and yet the heavens seemed so far away, no more than a solitary speck of light on the horizon. The galaxy he was so familiar with, his home planet, his laboratory, all of it was gone. And for the first time in his life, Jumba felt something akin to loneliness. "I don't know," he murmured, glancing over at his creation.

Once he had been the infamous evil genius known throughout the galaxy for his illegal genetic experiments. Now he was lost, this world and its inhabitants completely foreign to him. He had no emotional attachment to these humans, or to Pleakley, who was nothing more than his assigned babysitter. The only thing he had left that was truly his own, that he had shaped and created with his own two hands, was Stitch.

Before he had attempted to capture his creation, Jumba wondered what it must be like having no greater purpose, having absolutely nothing, not even memories that Stitch could visit during the late hours of the night. He now found himself in a similar situation, only instead of having nothing from the start, Jumba had lost everything. So which was worse? Having nothing and no one from the very beginning, or losing everything he cared about?

Despite the late hour, Stitch padded across the bed towards his creator. Reaching out in the dark, his paw made contact with Jumba's forehead, mimicking Nani's earlier actions. His presence was comforting, a reminder that maybe Jumba wasn't alone after all.

"I see that you are learning." Jumba lifted a hand, gently stroking the fur on Stitch's back. "Is not what I would have expected. But considering our current situation, Jumba should not be one to complaining."

The room darkened as the moon dipped below the horizon, the shadows stretching across the floorboards. After a while, Jumba's eyes began to close, his body overcome with fever and fatigue. He gave Stitch one final pat on the head before drifting off to sleep, his creation staying close throughout the remainder of the night.

Notes:

So... fun fact. Did you know that hippos normally have an internal body temperature ranging from 97° to 101.3°? Yeah, me neither. I had to do a lot of research for this story. And while there isn't a lot of information out there on the temperature of a hipopotamus, the first document I found says it's around 96.8°.

Later research put the starting range closer to 97°. I decided to go with the original information, putting Jumba's normal temperature at 96.8°. Mainly because it shows a greater difference in his alien biology while still keeping him close to the animal's normal range.

See, I have this long, complicated headcanon (which may become a story in the future) about Jumba's species evolving from animals similar to that of a hipopotamus. Now, I know they say that his design was possibly inspired by sea lions, but I'm not seeing it. The wiki also describes him as having features similar to that of a hippo, so that's what my headcanon settled on and it's been stuck there ever since. #jumbaisspacehippo 🦛

Chapter 4

As the early morning sunlight began to filter through the curtains, Pleakley stirred in his chair beside the desk, blinking and yawning as the sun shone across his face. The book that he'd been reading was still open, draped across his lap from the night before.

Rubbing sleep from his eye, he looked towards the bed, where he noticed a blue clump of fur curled up next to Jumba. As usual, the scientist was sprawled out on his back, but with Stitch nestled in the crook of his arm, providing a source of comfort throughout the night. It was pleasantly surprising, seeing them both together, sleeping peacefully. Pleakley had been hoping that the pair would eventually settle into their new home and start to get along. Waking up to Stitch snuggled up next Jumba was definitely a step in the right direction.

After setting the book aside on the desk, Pleakley got to his feet and moved towards the bed. Instantly alert, Stitch's ears perked up, his eyes opening as he watched the one-eyed alien.

"Shh." Pleakley held a finger to his lips. "Jumba needs his rest. Let's try not to wake him up, Stitch." He carefully removed the washcloth, draping it over the side of the bowl and laying his hand across Jumba's forehead. "Hmm, still feels hot. Though naturally I don't expect him to recover overnight."

"Ohh." Stitch's ears drooped, looking down at Jumba's sleeping form.

"There there, little guy." Pleakley affectionately patted the creature's head. "We'll continue to care for him to the best of our ability. If all goes well, he should be back to his old self in a couple of days. But for now, we should let him rest. We'll see about getting him something to eat later, after he wakes up."

Tilting his head to the side, Stitch watched as Pleakley refreshed the washcloth in the bowl of water before placing it back on Jumba's forehead. There was a low groan, the bedsheets rustling as Jumba's eyes fluttered open, staring at the ceiling in a daze before exhaustion pulled him under.

It was a worrying situation, seeing the formidable scientist reduced to a slumbering mass of fever and suffering. Seeing his creator in such a state made Stitch hesitant to leave Jumba's side, even though his stomach was rumbling with hunger. Inching closer, the furry alien uttered a low whine, speaking a few short sentences in his native language. His tone was questioning, concerned. That much was clear. Even though Pleakley didn't always understand the little critter, he could at least pick up on his tone in order to understand his mood.

"Oh, come on now." Pleakley slid his hands under Stitch's arms, lifting him off the bed. "You won't be doing him any favors if you starve yourself." The next thing he knew, he was being placed over Pleakley's shoulder and carried downstairs where the aroma of pancakes and coconut syrup wafted from the kitchen. "We'll check on him later," Pleakley said, gently patting Jumba's experiment on the back. "Right now we need to get you fed."

Stitch's gaze lingered on the door to Jumba's bedroom, the silky texture of Pleakley's nightgown brushing against his fur. He squirmed, grunting and muttering as he tried to wriggle out of the alien's grasp, but ultimately gave in to hunger as soon as they entered the kitchen.

Pleakley let out a startled yelp as Stitch leapt from his arms with surprising speed, landing on the table amid the plates and silverware. The tablecloth went sliding onto the floor, the plates narrowly avoiding the edge of the table, though more than a single mug went toppling over in the process. Sighing heavily, Nani seized the blue alien around his waist, lifting him out of the plate of pancakes he had shoved his face in.

"Did we forget how to sit down at the table and behave?" she scolded. Not that Stitch was paying attention. With a vicious snarl, he squirmed and flailed his limbs, reaching for the half-eaten plate of pancakes. When that failed, he settled for the closest plate within reach and grabbed that instead, devouring the food as Nani held him against her chest.

"He's not misbehaving, he's just energetic," Lilo chirped. As she spoke, a generous portion of coconut syrup dripped from the plate Stitch held in his claws, staining the front of Nani's shirt. "He probably needs something positive to redirect all that energy."

"Like what?" The older of the two sisters practically dropped the sticky alien into a seat at the table. Once he was seated, Nani held the hem of her shirt, looking down at the globs of syrup and strands of fur that stuck to the fabric. "Another mess," she said, sighing with exasperation.

Lilo thought for a minute. "Maybe we could do something nice for Jumba. Like bringing him breakfast in bed." She speared another morsel of pancake with her fork and popped it into her mouth. "We should bring him some flowers too. That always makes people feel better when they're sick."

Pleakley, who was busy returning the tablecloth to its correct position, looked up at the little girl, a smile spreading across his face. "Why, that sounds like a splendid idea."

"Fine," Nani relented, massaging her temples. "But I don't want Stitch digging up anything in my garden. And make sure you clean him up first. I don't have time to be washing a full load of laundry before work. Or scrubbing mud off the floors."

Stitch looked up at Nani, a half eaten pancake clenched between his jaws. His fur was sticky with syrup, sticking out at awkward angles. Surely this wouldn't be an absolute disaster. Right?

.oOo.

Jumba had woken up not long after Lilo and Stitch finished breakfast. He was now propped up on a mound of pillows in bed, absentmindedly scratching a persistent itch on the back of his leg while Pleakley checked on him.

"In all of life, Jumba has never been so miserable," he grumbled, still scratching under his nightshirt. The washcloth on his forehead was now tinged a deep reddish-orange due to the unique color of his perspiration. Though it was considered normal for his species, it created the appearance of blood staining the fabric. Similar splotches blossomed on his nightshirt where the fabric had adhered to his flesh, the garment drenched in sweat from the night before. Pleakley had noticed this soon after Jumba woke up, stating that he would need a fresh change of clothes.

With the last of his strength, Jumba attempted to sit up in bed, the ache in his belly causing him to slump against the pillows with a groan. His eyes squeezed shut against the pain, a harsh wheeze escaping his lips. Everything hurt. His chest was tight, there was a burning pain in the pit of his stomach, and his throat was sore from coughing.

"Uhm, do you... do you require assistance?" Pleakley asked, hesitantly approaching the bed. For a moment he stood back and watched, one hand reaching out, only to stall in midair. Jumba wasn't easily approachable during the best of times, his illness doing nothing to improve his already sour mood.

"No," Jumba snarled, glaring at the one-eyed alien. He rolled over onto his side, his chest heaving as he attempted to push himself off the mattress. "I am quite capable of doing this myself. Now, leaving me in peace. Am not to be undressing in front of peoples."

Pleakley scurried out of the room, passing Lilo and Stitch on the stairs. After a third failed attempt, Jumba finally managed to force himself into a sitting position, eyeing the clean nightshirt laid out for him at the foot of the bed. Reaching for it, Jumba paused when he heard the sound of footsteps outside his bedroom door.

"Pleakley, I thought I was telling you to go away!" Another painful coughing fit chased his words, and it was a moment before he was able to catch his breath.

"It's just us, Jumba." Lilo's voice floated in from the other side of the door. "We brought you a present."

"Huh? A... a present?" His curiosity getting the better of him, Jumba decided the clean clothes could wait. He was already in the habit of neglecting his personal hygiene when he'd been working in the lab, though it was not something he'd readily admit.

The door opened, and Lilo and Stitch entered the room, carrying a tray of food. Stitch had managed to balance a plate with several slices of toast on his head, while Lilo held a cup of tea in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. The smell of the tea was faint but comforting, reminding Jumba of the warmth of home, something he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"Look what we brought," Lilo said, her eyes shining with excitement as she set the bouquet on the nightstand. Apparently the child had gathered a handful of pink and white plumeria, depositing the delicate blooms in a glass half filled with water, creating a makeshift vase for the ailing scientist.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and for a moment Jumba seemed at a loss for words. "Thank you, little girl," he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the soft petals. "These are very nice... krasivyj," he added, slipping back into his native language.

"You're welcome," Lilo replied, her voice filled with pride. "Stitch and I picked them just for you to help you feel better."

"Ih, Stitch help!" There was a flower stem lodged between his sharp teeth, leaving Jumba to wonder if his creation had been manually pruning the hedges during their outing.

Leaning back against the mound of pillows, Jumba allowed himself a moment to admire the flowers. This simple gesture of kindness was deeply touching, though it was not without a touch of curiosity, wondering why they would be so kind to someone who had done nothing to deserve it.

Stitch held out the plate, offering the slices of lightly buttered toast. He then rambled off something in his alien language that only Jumba seemed to understand.

"Nani said we should make something mild because your tummy is bothering you," Lilo explained, and Stitch nodded in agreement. "So she helped us make you some toast and chamomile tea for breakfast."

The scientist tentatively picked up a piece of toast, noticing that the edges were slightly burnt. "I'm guessing bigger girl is having to intervene on 626's behalf," he said, tearing off a piece of the blackened crust and setting it aside on the plate.

Lilo giggled. "Yeah, kinda."

Despite the appearance of the scorched toast, Jumba carefully nibbled his breakfast, chewing slowly and swallowing with some difficulty. He tore off small pieces of the toasted bread, dipping them in the tea and washing each bite down with more of the sweetened liquid. Though it was a tedious process, the tea helped soothe the raw edges of his throat, and the sweetness from the honey brought a hint of color back to his cheeks.

It felt good to fill his belly with the soothing warmth of tea and buttered toast, his shoulders sinking as he visibly relaxed. He allowed his massive weight to sink into the pillows, his cough calmed for now, thanks to the healing properties of the chamomile tea. Jumba closed his eyes, and for a while there followed an awkward silence.

What exactly was a little girl to do with a sick alien? It wasn't every day they invited creatures from another planet into their home, let alone having to care for one who was sick with an unknown illness.

Lilo considered him for a moment, taking a step towards the bed. Somehow, he didn't seem quite so threatening now that he was sick. And he wasn't all that hairy either. Maybe furry was a better word for it. In her innocence and curiosity, she reached towards him, her hand inches away from the soft layer of purple fur when one of his eyes opened.

"Why is little girl still here?" he asked, his tone harsher than he intended.

Lilo gasped at his sudden awakening, jerking her hand away from his face. "Uhm, do you want me to read you a story?" she offered, still trying her best to be kind to their new houseguest. "It's what Nani does for me when I'm sick."

Jumba nodded, settling himself more comfortably in bed. "Da, that would be nice."

Lilo's face lit up, and she darted out of the room, returning a moment later with a book titled "The Little Engine That Could." She climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside Jumba, her small frame accompanied by Stitch, who decided that he also wanted hear a story. She opened the book, her voice steady and clear as she began to read, her eyes moving along the pages with surprising skill for someone so young.

Jumba listened to the story, though his focus was more on Lilo than the book she was reading. He studied her movements, watching her animated expressions as she read the story, her eyes sparkling with every "choo choo" of the little engine. Stitch, though not fully understanding the words on the pages, seemed to follow along with the enthusiasm in her voice.

After a while, Jumba's smile returned, feeling a warmth in his heart that hadn't existed for a long time. He was drawn towards Lilo and Stitch's inexplicable behavior more from curiosity than anything else, viewing them with the same scientific fascination he did his past experiments. They interested him, as a fly does a scholar of insects. But it was also comforting, a reminder that maybe he wasn't entirely lost to his work.

As the story came to an end, Jumba could feel his eyelids growing heavy, his body begging for the rest it so desperately needed.

"You should sleep, Jumba," Lilo said, noticing that he was already half asleep as she set the book aside. "Rest is important for getting better."

His response came in the form of a slow, slurred attempt at speech, most of which was lost amid a yawn. He was too tired to form a complete sentence, his breathing evening out as the room faded into darkness behind his eyelids. The sound of the door closing softly echoed through the silence, leaving him with the gentle hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of the palm trees outside his window.

Notes:

So for this chapter I've given Jumba yet another hippopotamus trait. Though the animal doesn't really sweat. More like it secretes a reddish substance that has antibacterial properties and acts as a natural sunscreen. People often call this "blood sweat". And with my headcanon being that Jumba is similar to a hippo, I thought it would be an interesting trait to pass along to our favorite evil genius.

I'll admit there are a few things I like about the live action version of Jumba. More specifically, his hair. Or fur, if you will. I think it's cute. I have no problem with his design in the remake. Canonically Jumba had hair at one point in the series, so I tell myself he probably always looked like that, we just couldn't see his hair that well because it's still growing back after Clip ate it.

So yeah, thought I'd mention his fuzzy hair in this chapter, as well as a reference to Lilo calling him a hairy potato. Also, try picturing live action Jumba with an aphro. Good God, could you imagine? Lol

I'm also fond of the scene from the original film where Lilo reads The Ugly Duckling to Stitch. That was my inspiration here. I wanted to have her reading to Jumba, since it seemed to do wonders for Stitch, maybe it could help tame Jumba too. 💕 📚

Chapter 5

Jumba spent the rest of the morning in bed, alternating between shivering and sweating, with Pleakley and Stitch doing their best to care for him while Lilo went to school and Nani went to work. Every now and then, they would bring him soup, crackers, and tea, trying to gently coax him into eating something. This proved to be a difficult task, due to Jumba's waning appetite, as well as his dislike of eating human food. It was only with a great amount of effort that he forced himself to drink the tea, picking half-heartedly at the offerings they brought.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that Jumba gathered enough strength to make another attempt at changing into some clean clothes. His nightshirt clung to his chest, damp with perspiration, and his hair was sticking out at odd angles, moist and sticky. Though if he had allowed it, Nani would have helped him into some fresh clothes before leaving for work.

Holding his aching midsection with one hand, the scientist pressed his palm against the mattress, forcing himself into a sitting position. This brief attempt at movement caused the pain in his abdomen to intensify. His lips parting in an anguished groan, the ailing scientist curled in on himself, shaking from head to toe with feverish chills. Something was very wrong, his mind racing as he worked through all the possibilities. But even with his brilliant mind, Jumba was limited in his knowledge of Earth diseases, a fact that he was now painfully aware of.

He briefly considered calling Pleakley for assistance, but then quickly dismissed the idea, thinking that his companion would probably wrap him in nine miles of lace and ribbons. He was also well aware of how he must look. The infamous Dr. Jumba Jookiba, reduced to a shaking, sweating, disheveled mess. It was humiliating, and if he could avoid the prying eyes of his caretakers, then so be it. He didn't need a babysitter.

For a while he remained incapacitated, gasping and groaning as beads of sweat trickled down his fevered brow. Then, after taking a moment to compose himself, Jumba reached out and snatched the clean nightshirt. As quickly as he could, he stripped off his sweat-soaked clothing, tossing it in the hamper in the corner of the room. He had just finished pulling the fresh nightshirt over his head when the itchy sensation returned with a vengeance.

He let out a roar of frustration, completely fed up with this bizarre collection of symptoms. His fingernails dug into the meat of his thigh, scratching the inflamed rash that had spread towards his knees.

"What the...?" His eyes widening in horror, Jumba lifted his hand, gazing down at the source of his discomfort. He'd been itching on and off throughout the day, but up until now he didn't think much of it. It was just an allergy to something in this new environment, he thought. But this... clearly this was more than an allergic reaction. It was a rash that had formed a pattern of curving lines across his heated flesh.

Biting his lip to hold back a series of foreign expletives, Jumba lifted one of his feet off the mattress, seeing a similar rash on his left heel. What in the world was going on?

Before he had time to process what he was seeing, a voice sounded outside his bedroom door.

"Jumba?" It was Pleakley, coming to check on him. "Jumba, are you awake? I thought I heard something." His fingers curled around the doorknob, the door opening to reveal Pleakley's large, singular eye.

"Go away!" Jumba spat angrily, his throat burning with every syllable. "Am having moment of self-examination."

"Is... is something wrong?" Pleakley asked, his tone laced with worry. He cautiously entered their room, keeping one hand on the doorframe in case he had to make a hasty retreat. "Jumba," Pleakley said at length. "What's that on your leg?" He pointed at the rash with a long, slender finger, a look of mild repulsion etched into his features.

"Is rash. Though I have not yet identified origin."

"Maybe I could take a closer look at it?" Pleakley offered, trying his best to be helpful.

"No!" Seizing the hem of his nightshirt, Jumba quickly pulled on the fabric, using it to cover his hips and thighs. "Is not in place I am displaying to public."

"Oh." Pleakley's voice immediately died in his throat. Blinking several times, he slowly began his retreat into the hallway. "I'll uh... I'll leave you to it then. After all, you're the evil genius." He forced a rather half-hearted chuckle, backing out the door in order to escape Jumba's fierce gaze.

Sighing heavily, Jumba lifted the fabric of his nightshirt, examining the rash. There were only so many diseases that could cause symptoms like this. He traced the pattern along his thigh with his fingertips, feeling the curves and twisting lines. This felt different somehow. It felt alive.

"Maybe we should consider seeking professional help," said Pleakley, leaning with his back against the wall. He glanced towards the bedroom door, making sure to keep a safe distance. "This doesn't appear to be getting better. And without proper medical treatment, there's no telling how bad it'll get."

"You are forgetting that I am professional," came Jumba's response from the other side of the door.

"You are a scientist who specializes in genetic engineering," Pleakley countered. "You are not a medical doctor."

"We cannot be risking exposure. Cloning devices only for keeping of the outside appearances. It will do nothing for the hiding of alien biology. Hematologic fluid is indigo. Perspiration is ruddy, like too much wine. Even ignorant Earth species will be knowing that something is different."

"I suppose you're right." Pleakley sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "But we can't ignore this. There has to be something we can do besides cold compresses and herbal tea." Silence followed his words. Pleakley shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. "Jumba? Are you alright?"

"Am thinking." Finally, a response. Jumba's voice was hoarse, but at least he was speaking. "Jumba knows own physiology. Trust in science. Only problem being that..." His voice trailed off, hesitating for a moment. "Am not used to care and concern from people."

"Well, I don't know what else you expected us to do," Pleakley said, chuckling mildly. This time the sound was lighter, with a hint of warmth that hadn't been there before.

Jumba didn't have a response for this. Pleakley was also silent, unsure of how to proceed. The seconds ticked by, each one seemingly longer than the last, stretching on into the fading afternoon sunlight. The shadows lengthened across the floor, and the sound of Pleakley's footsteps retreated down the stairs. They could be friends, but first they would have to learn how to trust each other, a process that would require much time and patience.

.oOo.

When Nani came home from work, she found Jumba asleep in bed, surrounded by a collection of medical textbooks that had been scattered across the mattress. From the looks of it, he had fallen asleep while reading, an open book draped across his chest.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb the ailing scientist, Nani gathered the books and neatly stacked them on the desk next to Jumba's laboratory equipment. She refreshed the washcloth on his forehead, sitting with them and monitoring his condition before moving downstairs to get dinner started.

As the evening wore on, Jumba drifted in and out of sleep, his fever making it difficult to discern reality from the haze of dreams. In his delirium, he saw images of experiments gone awry, the looming shadow of the Galactic Council swirling in the darkness of his mind, blending with the sounds of the ocean and the whispered conversations between Pleakley and Nani.

Distantly, Jumba was aware of them taking turns caring for him, bringing him water, feeding him soup, and checking his temperature. The house seemed to revolve around him, like a planet orbiting a dying star. Even Lilo's boundless energy was subdued, as was Stitch, who now spent the majority of his time curled up in bed beside his creator.

"He's not getting better," Nani told Pleakley one evening, keeping her voice low so as not to wake their sleeping patient. "If anything, I think he's getting worse. He's not eating, and I'm having a hard time getting him to drink anything."

"To be fair, Jumba's species doesn't usually consume their meals like we do," Pleakley explained, though it did little to ease her mind. "Kweltikwans have a fully functional digestive system; however, they've developed the use of transdermal patches for daily nutritional requirements. If we had something like that, it would be easier to feed and care for him."

Nani sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You don't suppose it's a digestive issue, do you? Like an allergic reaction from eating the food here? I mean, if he isn't used to eating, and then he starts complaining about nausea, stomach pains, and breaks out in a rash after living with us and eating our food, then... what else could it be?"

Pleakley considered her suggestion. "I would say yes, but his fever suggests there's something more going on. He must have developed some sort of infection. Otherwise, his body wouldn't be responding in such a manner." A pause, and then he added, "Still, we can't rule out the possibility of both things happening at once. I just don't know where he would have picked up an infectious disease. None of us have been ill recently."

Stitch, ever attentive, remained by Jumba's side while Nani and Pleakley conversed in the hall, his paw occasionally reaching out to touch Jumba's forehead, mimicking Nani's earlier actions. He seemed to have picked up on the human custom of checking for fever, watching and learning the process of caretaking.

"Jumba," Stitch said, his voice small in the stillness of the room. "Jumba okay?" His fur was ruffled, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bedside lamp Nani had turned on before leaving for the night.

Jumba rolled over in bed, seeing the blurry image of his creation perched beside him on the mattress. He opened his mouth to speak, only to launch into another coughing fit, his chest aching with each painful expulsion. "Not... not good," he admitted, his eyes watering from the searing pain in his throat.

Stitch moved closer, his soft whines gradually fading as Jumba's breathing evened out. Not knowing what else to do, the furry creature looked around the room, spying the glass of water on the nightstand. He nudged the glass closer to Jumba's hand. "Drink," he gently urged. "Water good for sick."

"No," Jumba groaned, his voice hoarse. He coughed again, wincing and bringing a hand to his throat. "I cannot be tolerating any more of these foods and beverages. It's... it's..." His sentence cut off abruptly, and he gagged, clamping a hand over his mouth.

The blankets fell away as Jumba sat up in bed, his pain momentarily forgotten in the wake of a sudden surge of nausea. He tried to steady his breathing, feeling as though the contents of his stomach had soured, curdling like rancid milk. Gasping for breath, he tentatively lowered his hand, his throat muscles working to swallow the saliva that was pooling at the back of his mouth. This, of course, only served to irritate his sore throat, causing him to cough and retch.

"626..." he murmured, covering his mouth to stifle a sickly belch. The sound that escaped was wet, gurgling and rising in his esophagus. A layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his entire body trembling. "I'm... I think..." It was all he could manage, swallowing thickly in an attempt to force the acidic bile back where it belonged.

His breath was coming faster now, catching in his chest as he fought against another coughing fit. He couldn't. Not here, not now, his eyes widening as he glanced around the room in a panic. Stitch, reading the expression on his face, went for the wastepaper basket beside the nightstand, holding it up as Jumba leaned over the side of the bed, retching violently.

A choking gasp cut through the stillness of the room, chased by a secondary belch that expelled the contents of his stomach. A watery combination of greenish bile and clear fluids splattered against the inside of the wastepaper basket, each forceful heave piercing his abdomen with burning agony. His sight was swimming, blurring around the edges, and for a brief moment Jumba swore he was going to pass out.

In that moment, lingering on the edge of unconsciousness, the images from his fevered dreams crept back into his mind. There were angry voices, members of the Galactic Council shouting, pointing fingers, and raising their fists. This was his punishment. This pain, this illness that had ravaged his body, their voices calling out from within the darkness of his mind. He knew that he deserved this.

He remembered seeing the Grand Councilwoman on her pedestal, the intensity of her glare focused on his creation, while the voices rose in unison, people rising from their seats, shouting, condemning him for his actions. This was all his fault. They hated him. Exiled to Earth, banned from his home planet. Nobody wanted him. Nobody cared.

And for what? For the pursuit of science? To satisfy his own curiosity? His own sadistic needs? It's not like he could turn it off. His brain was always feeding him complex formulas, a constant stream of what-ifs. He never stopped to consider whether or not he should, it was always a question of whether he could. What if he tried combining genetic material from these exotic life forms? Could he create a being with hybrid DNA from two different animals? Three, maybe? Four? Seven?

It was always like this. He couldn't quiet the inner workings of his mind, couldn't sleep at night for want of more. More of everything. More chaos, more destruction, progress for the sake of scientific advancement. He would stay up during the late hours of the night, going over every possible scenario from his life when someone or something had annoyed him, imagining how he could take what had been done and turn it against those who had provoked his wrath. No detail was too small, nothing was left out or forgotten. Because Jumba remembered everything.

Every barking dog that woke him up in the morning, every disgusting individual who double-dipped potato chips at a party, every annoying salesman who repeatedly dialed his number, every single traffic jam he ever got stuck in, as well as the desire to crush anyone who opposed his ruthless nature. It all came out in his experiments. And this was the inevitable conclusion. It was the end of his experiments, the end of everything, so far away from home.

Notes:

I might have spent a little too much time and effort trying to write the most visceral vomiting scene I could possibly imagine. As the great Jumba Jookiba once said, "Will have you losing many lunches." 🤭

Anyway, I decided to show the first attempt at Pleakley and Jumba starting to bond and become friends in this chapter, the idea being that Jumba would bond with Stitch easier than he would the other members of the household. It makes sense really. After all, Stitch is his own creation, the only thing he has left tying him to his former life. It'll take some time before Jumba and Pleakley start getting along. Have to build this gradually.

Side note: I am curious as to what you guys think is wrong with our favorite evil genius, seeing as how he just keeps getting worse. Of course, I already know where this is going. And it's not exactly the direction you might think. Not entirely.

Chapter 6

The aftermath of the vomiting incident wasn't at all pleasant. Stitch's sensitive nose wrinkled in disgust, picking up on the burning stench of stomach acid and bile. His lips drawn back in a grimace, he set the wastepaper basket aside and tucked it into a corner, so he didn't have to look at it or smell its contents.

It was surprising how much came up, the plastic bag inside the wastepaper basket sagging with the weight. Jumba had been existing on water and broth for the last few days, and yet it was just enough to cause his insides to rebel against him. And now, as the last of the muscular contractions began to subside, the ailing scientist collapsed against the mattress on his back, exhaustion pulling him down like a tremendous weight.

His throat, which was already irritated from frequent coughing episodes, was now raw from being practically bathed in burning stomach acid. Every breath grated against the inflamed tissues, his throat muscles seizing up in protest as he tried to swallow. To make matters worse, the ache in his midsection had now spread throughout his entire upper abdomen. His muscles were tense from the pain, which only added to the challenge of trying to breathe. He wasn't even sure how long he lay there, struggling to draw breath into his lungs, the room spinning around him.

Stitch approached the bed, his brow creased with worry. "Jumba sick," he said, his voice trembling. Climbing up onto the mattress, the furry blue alien reached out and placed a paw on Jumba's arm, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. His eyes, wide and dark, reflected his creator's pained expression. He didn't know what was happening, but he understood enough to know that something was terribly wrong, and he was scared.

"626," Jumba rasped, his voice no more than a strained whisper. He pressed his elbows against the mattress, trying and failing to lift his immense weight off the bed. "Help me up."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Stitch leapt to his feet, his paws reaching out and taking hold of Jumba's arm. The scientist shook with feverish chills, uttering a cry of pain as Stitch hauled him into a sitting position. Wincing at the sound, Stitch flattened his ears against his skull, his grip tightening so he wouldn't accidentally let his creator fall.

"Spasibo," Jumba muttered, still wheezing and panting with exertion. He leaned heavily against Stitch, the room tilting as he slowly got to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself. "Cannot be going on like this... Must... find what is wrong."

Together they made their way towards the desk in the corner of the room, where Jumba had set up a makeshift laboratory, complete with a collection of textbooks, test tubes and beakers, his old laptop, a scattering of notebooks and pens, as well as a few bits and pieces of alien technology that he used for tinkering with his inventions. A toolbox had been placed beneath the desk, taken from the storage shed out back. There was also a medical kit tucked away in one of the desk drawers.

It was the medical kit that drew his attention. Jumba had enough sense to acquire some basic supplies, knowing that he would be on his own if he happened to get sick while exiled on Earth. And although he had scolded Pleakley for ordering products online with Nani's credit cards, Jumba had also been guilty of a few shopping sprees, taking advantage of the various websites in order to obtain testing kits and medical instruments.

Stitch watched from his place beside the desk, his tail thumping a worried rhythm on the floor. Jumba reached for the medical textbooks he'd been studying, their pages filled with diagrams and text that were both fascinating and deeply troubling. He flipped through the pages, desperately searching for anything that might explain his symptoms. Stitch, not understanding the text, simply watched, his head tilted as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Ah," Jumba murmured, his finger landing on a page with an illustration that matched the rash on his thighs. "This looks familiar."

Stitch's ears perked up. He crouched low against the floor, taking a flying leap and landing on the armrest next to his creator. Tilting his head this way and that, he uttered a series of curious noises as he tried to read the alien script. "What say?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Is... is about... rash," Jumba replied, pointing to the photographs. His breathing was becoming increasingly labored. There was a tightness in his chest, as though an elephant was kneeling against his ribcage, threatening to slowly suffocate him with its weight. "Jumba... think... is parasitic infection." He paused, leaning heavily against the desk, the weight of his efforts draining what little strength remained in his tired limbs.

Stitch's eyes widened further, and he uttered a distressed noise, his tail thumping the chair with greater urgency. "Worms on Jumba?"

"No, not on," Jumba rasped, his throat burning. He placed a hand on his ample belly. "Inside... It... it would explain a lot..."

Stitch's concern shifted to alarm, his tail thumping frantically. His claws sunk into the plush leather backing of the chair, climbing upwards where he perched on the back of the furniture. Leaning forward, he looked down at the medical textbook over Jumba's shoulder, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to make sense of the foreign words. Pointing at the pages, Stitch lapsed into his alien language, his voice tinged with panic.

"Staying calm, 626." Jumba shifted his weight, leaning back in his seat and plucking his creation off the back of his chair. "Am knowing what I am doing, yes? Have been preparing for this... this eventuality." He gently lowered Stitch to the floor, setting him beside the desk. "Now, we must perform diagnostics... to confirm infection."

Returning to the textbook, Jumba fought through the feverish haze to read the different methods of diagnosis, the words blurring together on the pages. "It seems blood test is best option," he murmured, his trembling hands opening the medical kit.

Stitch watched from the sidelines, his tail stilled momentarily as he tried to understand what his creator was about to do. "Shot?" he queried, frowning and folding his ears against his head. "Stitch no like."

"Is okay, 626." Jumba gave him a reassuring pat on the head. "Just a quick prick. Promise it will not be hurting."

His breath wheezing in his chest, the scientist unwrapped one of the syringes from the medical kit, the plastic crinkling beneath his fingers. Stitch whimpered, his gaze locked on the sharp needle.

"Look away," Jumba told him, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. He didn't want to upset his creation any more than he already was. Stitch obediently followed his command, his eyes squeezed shut. "Is funny... in a cosmic sort of way," he added, cleaning an area on his forearm with a strong-smelling alcohol pad. "Never am I thinking would be necessary to perform experimentation on self."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jumba was able to maintain a calm demeanor, taking a deep breath to steady his hands. He uncapped the syringe with his teeth, spitting the cap into the corner and placing his arm on the desk. Fighting back against the ache in his chest and the raging fever, he carefully pierced his thick hide with the needle. The pain was surprisingly minimal, a testament to Jumba's skill and tolerance. Slowly, the indigo fluid was drawn into the syringe. Not much, just enough to test for specific antibodies produced in response to the infection.

Stitch opened one eye, peeking at the syringe with the deep blue liquid inside. "Jumba okay," he squeaked. There was a hint of relief in his voice, seeing that his creator survived the ordeal. But the process is far from over. He continued to watch from his place on the floor, seeing Jumba place a couple drops of blood on a test strip before opening a vial containing the test solution.

The entire process was strangely satisfying, creating the feeling of being back in his old lab. It was a process Jumba had repeated countless times in the past, going through the motions of taking samples and carefully monitoring the results as though it were second nature. Though his movements were slowed due to his fever and illness, he still managed to add the correct amount of test solution to the sample, leaning back in his seat with a weary sigh when the process was complete.

"This... this will tell," he stated, more to himself than to Stitch. "We need only to wait few minutes for results."

Jumba allowed himself a moment to rest, his eyes closing briefly as he sank into the leather surface of the chair. He felt absolutely wretched, his clothing drenched in sweat around the collar of his nightshirt, his chest aching with the effort to breathe. The simple act of forcing himself out of bed required a great amount of energy, but it had to be done. The humans were of no use to him. There wasn't anyone else on the planet he could trust to perform the necessary medical tests. He didn't like being put in this situation, but there was no other option. It was either this or wait until the illness took his life.

After about ten minutes the results became visible in the test strip, revealing a marker that indicated the presence of parasites.

Stitch uttered a soft whine, his paws covering his eyes. "Looks... looks bad," he said, peeking through his fingers.

Jumba's eyes widened, a look of horror flitting across his features. "Da, is very bad. But confirms suspicion. Jumba has parasitic infection." Pausing for a moment, the scientist coughed into his closed fist, the sound harsh and painful. "Not bacteria, not virus. Parasites have... have spread. To the throat and... and lungs. Jumba is very sick."

The coughing intensified, each jarring motion sending a spike of pain through his chest. He leaned forward slightly, retching and bringing up a trickle of bloody sputum. Spots of indigo stained his lips, the room spiraling as another wave of dizziness set in. If he was going to synthesize the necessary medication, he would have to move quickly. He could taste the metallic essence of his own blood and knew that the situation was dire.

Stitch's head snapped up, his eyes meeting Jumba's with a question in them. "Jumba okay?" he asked, his tail swishing anxiously.

The scientist shook his head, unable to speak due to the searing pain in his throat. He could practically feel the invaders crawling in his esophagus, clogging his lungs with parasitic waste.

Stitch's eyes widened with concern, his paws reaching out to touch Jumba's arm. Though he didn't have the words to express what he was feeling, it was enough for Jumba to realize that despite his chaotic origins, Stitch had grown to care for the man who gave him life.

"Jumba," he whimpered fearfully, his voice filled with emotion that the scientist rarely heard. "Stitch get help."

"No." Coughing and clearing his throat, Jumba motioned towards the tissue box on the nightstand. It took a second for the meaning of this gesture to sink in, the furry blue alien hurrying to retrieve a handful of tissues and offering them to his creator. "626, no... I will do this," he said, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. Forcing a weary smile on his face, Jumba wiped the blood from his lips with the tissues. "Not to be worrying... It has been a while since I've had to work on such a... personal project. And while conditions are not ideal, I am still having scientific genius for guidance."

Stitch's expression didn't change, but his tail slowed to a gentle wag, his concern not entirely abated. "Jumba make better?" he asked hopefully.

Jumba nodded in response, a hand coming up to rub his aching throat. "Da, 626. I will make better," he promised. His gaze traveled over the makeshift lab, his thoughts racing along with his pounding heart. The equipment he gathered during his time on Earth was a far cry from the advanced technology he had access to at his lab. A scattering of books and scientific equipment, medical supplies, and his old computer, but he had worked with less before.

Notes:

One of the things I noticed while rewatching the series is that Pleakley tends to overreact to the simplest of things, often mistaking common things such as snow as an invasion of parasites. You can see this in season one episode 27, where he thinks he's being "consumed by a deadly parasite" the first time he encounters snow. He actually says this alot throughout the series.

He also does this towards the end of the live action remake, saying that they're scanning Cobra Bubbles for deadly parasites. I'll admit, one thing I like about the remake is how well they did Pleakley, taking little things like that from the series and adding them to his character in the movie. The only thing they did wrong with his character was stripping him of his crossdressing and giving him a more masculine sounding first name. But I digress.

So I thought, what if Pleakley was right for a change. What if it really was a parasitic infection. That would certainly be an interesting development, especially after all the times he worried about it. Because yes, I'm evil like that too.

Chapter 7

"We need... formula for medicine." Using the last of his strength, Jumba began the arduous task of searching through the stack of medical textbooks and research materials, his hands trembling as he selected a book titled 'Infectious Diseases and Treatments'. "Here," he wheezed, finding the section on parasitic infections.

The pages were filled with microscopic images of various parasites and their life cycles, along with a list of treatments and potential side effects. His eyes scanned the text, the words swimming in and out of focus as his mind worked to translate the complicated information.

There were certain benefits to being one of the most accomplished scientists in the galaxy. One of them being that he had access to medical literature, complex formulas, and documents most people couldn't obtain under normal circumstances. Even in his weakened state, Jumba was able to push through his feverish haze, working through a series of complex calculations and symbols. His hands shook with every page he turned, his heart racing, but his thoughts were focused, steady and calm.

He knew exactly what he had to do. Everything he needed was right in front of him, the instructions covering the precise chemical compounds and measurements required to synthesize the medication, including the onset, duration, and correct dosage. Anyone else would have struggled to comprehend such complex instructions. But for Dr. Jumba Jookiba, the process of synthetic chemistry was as simple as brewing a pot of tea.

"This... right here." Jumba pointed to a specific paragraph, his finger tracing the line of text that formed the basis of the medicinal compound he needed. "This is the formula." It was only with a great amount of effort that he managed to speak, his breathing ragged. It was going to take everything he had just to force himself through the process without collapsing midway.

Jumba looked up from his book, taking stock of the supplies at his disposal. "We... we need... to... to synthesize," he murmured, his head dropping to the desk with a soft thunk. "Jumba can... can use knowledge... make medicine."

Darkness crept into the corners of his vision, and for a moment he briefly nodded off at his desk.

"Jumba?" Stitch's voice was there, faded and distant, but laced with a sudden anxiety. He felt the creature's paws on his shoulder, shaking him. "Jumba! Jumba, wake!"

The scientist awoke with a start, blinking and looking around the room in confusion. "Jumba," Stitch repeated, his voice tight with worry. "You okay?"

Jumba pushed himself upright, his head pounding. "Da. Just... resting eyes." He looked down at the book, his mind racing with the steps he needed to take. "First," he said, pointing to a list of ingredients, "we need these... these ingredients."

Stitch nodded eagerly, his eyes scanning the list. He didn't understand the words, but he understood the urgency in his creator's voice.

"That one first," Jumba rasped, pointing to one of the containers on his desk. Stitch followed his instructions, lifting a beaker that contained a clear, viscous liquid and handing it to his creator.

His chest rising and falling with short, strained breaths, the ailing scientist wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, willing the tremors to subside. He had to focus, pushing through his discomfort and measuring the correct amount of each ingredient Stitch gave him.

His sight was swimming as he squinted at the measurements on the page, the numbers blurring before his eyes, slowing the process. Sometimes he would pause to reread the instructions. Other times he would experience a sudden, severe coughing fit, forcing him to set aside his work until his breathing evened out. The entire process was agony, as evidenced by the growing pile of tissues in the wastebasket, reeking of stale mucus and the metallic scent of blood.

"Almost finished," Jumba muttered, turning the page to the next set of instructions. "Now... now we need... the... the next one." He gestured weakly to the next ingredient on the list, a silver powder in a small jar. Stitch quickly snatched the jar, his claws clicking against the smooth surface. He unscrewed the lid, offering it to Jumba, who carefully measured out a scoop and added it to the mixture.

Together they continued working on into the night. The bond between them, once formed out of fear and a desire for control, had transformed into something far more complex. This was something deeper, something real. He could see it shining in the depths of Stitch's eyes, his creation working tirelessly to help save the man who brought him into this world.

"626..." Jumba wheezed, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. He could feel the intensity of his fever burning through his veins, his lungs practically screaming for air. "This... this is final step." The words had barely left his mouth when he felt the floor tilt beneath his feet, staggering sideways and reaching for the desk to maintain his balance.

Panic flared to life in Stitch's chest, his heart beating a fierce tempo against his ribs. He lapsed into his alien speech, chattering and calling out his creator's name. Only this time it wouldn't be enough. Jumba wasn't even hearing him, his knees buckling as the strength went out of his legs.

All four of his eyes rolled back in his head, blackness eclipsing his vision with a sudden finality. If it weren't for Stitch's quick reflexes and immense strength, Jumba would have struck the floor in his descent. The blue alien reacted just in time to catch his creator, supporting his massive weight with both sets of arms. The last thing Jumba remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of footsteps running up the stairs, his creation calling for help from the rest of the family.

Nani and Pleakly entered the room moments later, both of them taken aback by the sight of Stitch cradling Jumba's unconscious form on the floor. Nani gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Pleakley squeezed his slender form through the doorway, moving past her and rushing towards his fallen companion.

"What happened to him?" Nani asked, her eyes widening at the sight before them. Slowly, she moved from the doorway, fearing the worst as she watched Pleakley kneel beside Jumba, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse.

Stitch responded with a slew of high-pitched jabbering and frantic gestures, pointing to the desk and miming the process of mixing chemicals. Pleakley's singular eye glimpsed the medical kit and open textbooks before returning to his companion, his hand moving to his forehead to check Jumba's temperature.

"He's finally succumbed to his illness," Pleakley murmured, noting the way his companion was struggling to breathe. "From the looks of it, he was trying to invent a cure, but his condition is critical. We need to get him into bed and work on easing his fever."

"He was trying to invent a cure?" Her brow furrowed, Nani turned towards the makeshift laboratory setting where Jumba had been working prior to his collapse. Her eyes darted from one object to the next, spying bits of alien technology and softly simmering chemicals that gave off a strange aroma.

Pleakley nodded, his antenna drooping. "It certainly seems that way. Though I don't know if he managed to produce anything that might alleviate his symptoms." He shifted slightly, standing beside Stitch as they prepared to move Jumba to the bed. "Nani, a little help, please."

Her attention snapped back to the ailing scientist. Her movements swift, Nani crossed the room and knelt beside the furry blue alien, sliding her arms underneath Jumba's massive frame. Together with Pleakley and Stitch's help, they were able to lift him off the floor. Though it required a bit of effort and some careful maneuvering to place him on the mattress, his weight and size complicating the process.

The springs groaned in protest, the mattress sinking towards the floor as Jumba was carefully lowered onto his bed. Once he was settled, Nani told Stitch to bring her more washcloths from the bathroom. The furry experiment nodded, scurrying down the hall and around the corner as fast as his legs could carry him. Pleakley, meanwhile, was busy studying the medical supplies, books, and equipment on the desk, hoping it might provide them with an answer as to what was making Jumba so horribly ill.

"Dr. Jookiba has a brilliant mind," Pleakley stated, his eye scanning the pages of the medical textbook left open on the desk. "It doesn't surprise me that he would try to figure out what is wrong. The question is, did he manage to catch it in time?"

Stitch returned with his arms full of washcloths, accidentally dropping a few as he approached the bed. Water pinged against the bowl, a shower of droplets splashing on the surface as each cloth was wrung out, the first one draped across Jumba's forehead. Nani gently tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, her fingers lifting the pale blue fabric and placing another cloth on Jumba's chest. Stitch hopped onto the mattress, using all four of his paws to pass the damp fabric over Jumba's arms and legs, helping to gradually bring down his fever.

Though he wasn't exactly skilled in the art of caretaking, sloshing some of the water onto the floor and sheets, Nani appreciated Stitch's concern. "Good boy," she murmured, pausing to pat his head. "I'm just grateful Lilo isn't awake for this."

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. The hour was late, the silver crescent having already risen above the horizon. Its pale form shone brightly against the silhouette of the palm trees, their leaves dipping and bending in the evening breeze. It would be a while before Jumba showed signs of regaining consciousness, shifting slightly and moaning just as Nani was refreshing the cloth on his forehead.

"Jumba? Can you hear me?" She leaned in close, hoping for a reply.

His speech slurred, the scientist responded with an incoherent string of utterances, most of it in his native language.

Pleakley joined the others beside the bed, keeping watch over his companion as Jumba lingered on the edge of consciousness. He was about to speak, offering a possible translation for Jumba's unique brand of intergalactic Russian, when a figure approached the doorway, a ragged doll dangling from her grasp.

"What's happening? Is Jumba okay?"

The three of them turned, seeing Lilo standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Unlike Pleakley and her older sister, Lilo hadn't been awake when Stitch called for help earlier. It took a moment for the distant sounds and creaking floorboards to pierce the depths of her mind as she slept. But as soon as she was awake, she climbed the stairs to Jumba and Pleakley's room, following the sound of hushed voices and frantic whispers.

Clutching the doll against her chest, Lilo padded into the room on bare feet, her brow creased with worry. Nani turned back to Jumba, calling his name and squeezing his hand in hopes of eliciting a response. Preferably one in a language they could understand.

"Nani?" Lilo's voice was small and frightened. "Is Jumba gonna die?"

Nani chewed her bottom lip, trying and failing to force a smile on her face. "No, of course not, sweetheart. He's just very sick."

"Maybe I should escort her to her room," Pleakley whispered behind his hand, leaning in so only Nani could hear him. He had barely finished his sentence when his companion shifted slightly against the mattress, his eyes fluttering open.

Jumba grimaced and wheezed, inhaling deeply before another coughing fit seized his chest, his ribs aching tremendously. At one point he appeared to choke, coughing so hard he nearly began to vomit. He didn't even hear the little girl's voice as she approached the bed, the sound of his own ragged breath filling his ears.

"Breathe, Jumba," Nani gently urged, struggling to keep the anxiety out of her tone. She didn't want to frighten her sister anymore than she already was. "Just keep breathing. We're right here, Jumba. Breathe. That's it now."

Jumba groaned, his vision blurring. "Where... where am I?" he croaked, his throat raw.

Nani's gaze softened, her hand brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. "You're in your room, Jumba," she said, her voice filled with a tenderness he wasn't expecting. "You had a bit of a collapse."

"I... I what?" Jumba gazed at her in confusion, blinking and staring through the feverish haze that clouded his thoughts.

Nani dipped the cloth into the bowl once more, using it to wipe the perspiration from his brow. "Why didn't you tell us how bad it was?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, carrying an undertone of frustration. "We could have helped."

He gazed at each of them in turn, at the many faces that had gathered around his bed. "I..." Jumba opened his mouth to speak, feeling at a loss for words. Hot tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, causing his sight to swim. There were no words for this feeling, no words that he could use to explain their behavior. It was completely foreign to him, his chest aching with the sensation of something new, something warm.

Stitch moved towards his creator, his eyes never leaving the flushed features of Jumba's face. Looking at him now, the ailing scientist could see that he was more than worried. He was scared, his ears drooping, reaching out a trembling paw as he softly whispered, "Jumba okay?"

Jumba returned his gaze, his eyes half closed with exhaustion, and finally he spoke. "I... I am not deserving of your kindness... Not after everything I've done... Who would care for evil genius...? I only create for destruction, for hurting people. Am used to being alone."

Stitch's eyes widened, and he shook his head, his ears flat against his skull. "No, Jumba, no! We family! Stitch care!" He reached out and touched Jumba's cheek, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face.

Nani sighed and sat down on the bed next to Jumba, her hand taking his in a comforting grip. "You're not alone anymore. We're here for you, all of us. We're a family now, and families look out for each other."

Pleakley nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Dr. Jookiba. Our circumstances may be unconventional, but our bonds are no less real. We are all concerned for your well-being."

Even Lilo took a step forward, smiling up at him as she placed her hand atop his own. "We're ohana. And ohana means no one gets left behind or forgotten.

"Oh-haan-na...?" Jumba struggled with the pronunciation, the letters taking shape with difficulty. "Where I am coming from, we say sem'ja..." he wheezed, his breathing slightly labored. "Means... family."

"That works too," said Pleakley, smiling with amusement at Jumba's failed attempt to mimic the island's language. "The message is still the same, and we're going to do everything we can to help you get better. Because that's what you are to us. You're family."

Notes:

When I first started writing this chapter, I was afraid it wouldn't be believable in terms of what was canonically possible. How could Jumba possibly create a cure for his illness with his limited supplies? But then, as I was rewatching the series, I came across an interesting bit of dialogue from season one episode 31, where Jumba states that he is working on a cure for Earth viruses. He then goes on to ask Pleakley if he's seen his petri dish cultures. There's also experiment 222, which is basically a sentient disease organism.

All of this leads me to believe that Jumba has experience both in creating and curing diseases. This is also the same guy who built a time machine with a couple of spare parts and a surf board. So it's safe to assume that synthesizing a medication is well within the range of possibilities.

Also, interesting side note. One of the few things I actually liked about the live action version of Jumba is his inability to correctly pronounce words like mama, papa and ohana. While it's not the same as his broken English and Russian accent seen in the original, I can't help wondering if this was done as a sort of compromise, kind of like Pleakley's live action form wearing a shirt with a flower on it instead of a floral dress.

Either way, I decided to include that little detail in this chapter, building on it by having him substitute the Russian word for family. It's a nice little touch, don't you think? After all, that's the whole point of a fix-it fic. Just because they made a mess of everything doesn't mean I can't pick up the pieces and turn it into something better.

Chapter 8

The silence that followed carried with it a gentle warmth, the echo of something comforting and familiar, something that had once been lost. It had been so long since Jumba experienced the type of love and kindness he associated with having someone care for him. Someone who did so naturally, rather than being forced to do so because of their programming code.

Sniffling, Jumba coughed and wiped his eyes, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you..." he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. "Jumba is not used to such kindness. Is strange concept, having family caring for me."

Nani's grip on his hand tightened. "We're going to get you through this, Jumba. We're not going to let you go without a fight."

Pleakley joined the others, placing a comforting hand on Jumba's shoulder. "You need to rest now," he said, his voice mirroring the family's earlier statements of love and support. "We'll handle everything from here."

Jumba tried to protest, but his words were lost amid a fit of coughing, pain lancing his chest with every movement. "Jumba can do with handling it on his own," he managed to croak out, his voice hoarse.

"No, Jumba," Nani firmly stated, her grip on his hand tightening. "You've done enough. We'll take care of it now." There was a fire in her eyes, the likes of which he had never seen before, burning with the strength and determination that had always seen them through, no matter how difficult things were.

Pleakley turned his attention to the desk, the various medical supplies and textbooks laid out on its surface. He spied the book left open to the chapter on parasitic infections. "This is what you were researching?" he asked, barely suppressing a shiver at the grotesque images in the book.

Nani's expression was grim, moving to stand beside the one-eyed alien. "A parasitic infection?" she queried, her eyes travelling the complicated medical text, trying to make sense of it all. "This isn't even native to Hawaii. It's brought over by travelers. In most cases, it doesn't even cause serious symptoms. People can have this for a long time without feeling sick, unless they have a weakened immune system."

"Is true for humans," Jumba stated, wheezing and struggling to force his words past the raw, irritated tissues of his throat. "I suspect form of hyperinfection. Body... not yet accustomed to Earth sickness." He coughed, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "No immunity..." he rasped, shaking his head.

"Oh, I was afraid of something like this." Pleakley brought his hand to his mouth, nibbling his fingernails. "This is why we routinely check for parasites when we encounter new lifeforms. It doesn't help that those native to Quelte Quan are highly susceptible to parasitic infections. There's even a specific type of parasite that has evolved on Jumba's home planet, which only infects his kind."

Nani's eyes flicked to Stitch, who had taken to nuzzling Jumba's hand, offering what comfort he could. She looked down at the book again, her thumb tracing the words on the page. "The book recommends a specific type of antiparasitic medication," she said, her voice steady despite her concern. "Wait a minute." The book nearly slid from her grasp at the realization of what he'd done. "Jumba," she breathed, in awe at his brilliance. "You've already done it, haven't you?"

Jumba allowed himself a weak smile, nodding in response to her question. His gaze drifted towards his desk, where he had placed a number of adhesive patches in a metal tin before losing consciousness.

His curiosity piqued, Pleakley bypassed the medical textbooks, leaning over and plucking one of the patches from the container. "Jumba, you're incredible," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

"What are those?" Lilo asked, watching as Pleakley unfolded one of the soft patches, holding it up to the light for closer inspection. The material itself appeared to be made of a thick fabric, the smooth texture slightly pliable.

"These are transdermal patches specifically designed for precise administration of medication," Pleakley explained, a grin spreading across his face. "Jumba's species uses these for everything, from basic nutrition to medicine. It's quite fascinating, really. Very simple, yet extremely effective."

With the medication in hand, Pleakley approached the bed, his fingers closing around the scientist's wrist. His movements were surprisingly gentle, positioning Jumba's arm with the palm facing upwards. "You have to locate a vein first," Pleakley said, his thumb feeling along the inside of Jumba's arm. "Ah, here we go."

Finally giving in to exhaustion, Jumba closed his eyes, allowing Pleakley to peel off the adhesive backing before sticking the patch on his forearm. "Thank you," he said, his voice no more than a ragged whisper. With the medicated patch in place, Jumba could finally relax, knowing that he now had a fighting chance against the parasites that had invaded his body.

"We'll need to closely monitor his condition," Pleakley told them, looking around at the others. "If the formula is correct—and I have no reason to doubt Dr. Jookiba's brilliance—he should start showing signs of improvement within the next forty-eight hours. Though it's likely he'll require an extended period of treatment since the infection is so severe."

Stitch sniffed the patch on Jumba's arm, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Smells like... medicine." The furry blue experiment made a face, sticking out his tongue and gagging. "Icky."

Beside them, the little girl yawned, sinking to the floor with Scrump in her lap. It had been a long night for everyone, and even her doll was starting to droop.

"Lilo, sweetheart, it's late," Nani said, rising from her seat on the foot of the bed. She too was feeling the weight of the long hours spent caring for the ailing scientist, her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. "You should go to bed."

"But I want to stay with Jumba," Lilo protested. "He's still sick."

"I know, Lilo." Nani knelt beside her younger sibling, placing a hand on her back. "But Jumba needs his rest, and so do you. We can't have you up all night with him just because he isn't feeling well."

"Stitch gets to stay with him," Lilo pouted, pointing at the furry mass curled up on the pillow. "And if Stitch stays, then I'm staying too." Despite her weariness, the little girl crossed her arms over her chest, determined to stay with Jumba to make sure he was alright.

Nani sighed, looking back at Jumba's sleeping form. The scientist had already gone to sleep not long after Pleakley administered the first dose of medication. "Okay, but just for tonight," she conceded. "We need to make sure everyone gets their rest, okay?"

A smile blossoming on her tired features, Lilo crawled into Jumba's bed, snuggling up beside him and his creation. Stitch appeared to have fallen asleep as well, though he lifted an ear when Lilo joined them, hearing the bedsprings creak as she drew near. He remained alert, though his eyes were closed, listening to Nani and Pleakley's quiet voices at Jumba's bedside, until eventually his ear folded back and he began to doze.

"I'll stay with him tonight," Pleakly said, the pair conversing in hushed tones. "His health shouldn't decline any further now that we've started treatment, but that cough is still a concern."

Their voices slowly faded into the quiet recesses of the night, with Pleakley carefully monitoring Jumba's breathing as he slept. For the most part, the rest of the night passed without incident. Jumba managed to sleep for approximately an hour before waking up to another coughing episode, his clothing damp with perspiration.

When he awoke, Pleakley was right there beside him, holding out a lukewarm mug of lavender and chamomile tea with honey. "According to the human practice of herbal remedies, this blend is said to be particularly soothing for coughs and sore throats," he stated, offering the mug to his ailing friend.

Jumba eyed the mug warily, his throat burning with each ragged exhalation of breath. He lifted the mug from Pleakley's grasp, making a face as he inhaled the sickly sweet aroma. Nothing really appealed to him right now. But if it would help his sore throat, Jumba would drink the tea.

He soon discovered that the tea had other soothing properties, the desire to sleep overwhelming his senses. Distantly he was aware of Pleakley taking the empty mug and setting it aside on the nightstand, speaking softly about herbal remedies they could try in the morning. Only Jumba wasn't really listening. He was too tired to focus, nestled between the warmth of Lilo and Stitch, who had curled up on either side of the bed.

Despite his illness and exhaustion, it brought a small measure of comfort having them close by. The little girl had nestled up against his chest, while Stitch had chosen a spot near the foot of the bed, his chin resting atop Jumba's feet as he slept. Every now and then Stitch would shift in his sleep, the weight of his presence offering some semblance of peace that helped soothe the ailing scientist back into the arms of slumber.

As the hours passed in silence, Jumba's dreams slowly began to shift and change. He found himself alone in a maze of steel corridors, lost in the vast depths of outer space. The stars had gone out, the sun and its orbiting planets were no more, creating an endless void that stretched on into infinity. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but dusty corners and bare walls, serving as a reminder of his isolation and loneliness.

Moving closer to one of the round portals set high in the wall, Jumba pressed his palm against the glass, gazing out into the blackness that filled the void. His own voice echoed in his mind, memories of the confrontation with Stitch when he told him that he could never belong, that he didn't have a family. He had practically rubbed it in his face, acknowledging Stitch's decision to choose Lilo at the shelter, simply for his own protection.

"I am not having family either," Jumba whispered, his breath fogging the surface of the glass. "Jumba is trying to create family out of nothing. And now..." His voice trailed off into silence, lowering his head and slowly walking away.

He walked the endless halls for what felt like an eternity, each window reflecting images from his past. He saw himself in his laboratory; he felt the rush of creation that drove him to push the boundaries of science until he forgot why he had ventured down this path in the first place, losing himself in the process. He didn't even recognize himself anymore, staring at the flickering images like scenes playing out on a movie screen.

Was this really what he had become? He didn't even sound the same; his voice had been altered beyond recognition. Deep down inside, he knew that this was wrong. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone horribly wrong, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Yet amidst the chaos of his past, there existed a new thread woven through the fabric of his dreams: the soft whispers of a little girl's voice, the sound of the waves pulsing against the shore, and the comforting warmth of a blue alien creature that, against all odds, had come to mean something to him.

As he continued his path down the lonely corridor, the images on the glass shifted and changed, displaying moments he shared with his new family. Moments filled with laughter at Pleakley's failed attempt at cooking, tears that had been shed when Lilo was bullied by the girls in hula class, and the simple warmth of a family that had been there all along, waiting for Jumba to embrace what he had been given.

He recalled the gentle squeeze of Lilo's hand, so small compared to his own. He remembered the way it felt when Stitch's fur brushed against his cheek, the steady beat of a heart that had grown to care for him despite his imperfections. The warmth and the sensation, so real in his dreams, brought tears to his eyes, wondering if he had fallen too far to reclaim what he had foolishly thrown away.

His shoulders sank, heaving with each broken sob that escaped his lips. This wasn't who he was supposed to be. Lowering his head, Jumba slumped against the window frame, the portal reflecting back at him his past mistakes. Through his anger and his tears, he forced himself to watch, reliving the moment from his past where he had trapped Pleakley in the laundry room. He could have done worse, but still... it didn't feel right. This was his family. These were his friends.

Pleakley had been nothing but kind to him during the time they were together, asking questions and trying to get to know him better. Like a friend. Because that's what friends do, isn't it? Sure, they had their moments. Jumba knew exactly what he was doing when he switched off Pleakley's cloning device in front of that human with the shaved ice. It had been hilarious, seeing his reaction, hearing him scream like some sort of adolescent Earth female. And yet despite everything he had put him through, Pleakley was now offering him tea and giving him medicine to combat the infection.

With trembling hands, Jumba wiped away the tears. His fingers curled into a fist, his massive frame shaking with barely suppressed rage. The images before him played out on an infinite loop, forcing him to relive his mistakes, over and over, until finally he unleashed a tremendous roar, shattering the glass with a single blow. The glass cut deep into his thick hide, drops of indigo staining the walls, spilling onto the floor. It was only supposed to be a dream, but the pain he felt was real. Not in his torn flesh but in his aching heart. This wasn't how you were supposed to treat your family.

The pain had barely registered in his mind when the shards of broken glass were sucked out into the vacuum of space, the intense pressure threatening to drag him out as well. In his panic, Jumba gripped the edges of the portal with his bleeding hands, screaming into the void. No, no, not this again! It couldn't be happening again!

But that's how it worked. You relive your mistakes until you either learn from them or they continue to repeat in an endless cycle of self-destructive chaos.

Notes:

Okay, so, bit of a headcanon/medical infodump here. Feel free to skip this if you're not into the medical aspects of the story.

When I was researching parasitic infections for this story, the first thing I looked up was the type of parasites that infect hippos. Because, you know, that's what Jumba is according to my headcanon. I discovered a specific type of parasite found in hippos known as schistosoma hippopotami. That's what Pleakley is talking about in this chapter when he says there's a type of parasite that has developed on Quelte Quan that only infects Jumba's species.

Originally, I was going to use that as the type of infection Jumba has. However, I always try to make any sort of illness as medically accurate/realistic as I can, despite this being a work of fiction. I quicky realized that it wouldn't work because that type of parasite isn't found in Hawaii. I had to either start over or state that Jumba had picked up the parasite while still on Quelte Quan. The second option wouldn't work canonically because Jumba had been at his lab for several years. So I had to start over.

I started researching parasites found in Hawaii. Eventually I settled on strongyloidiasis. Research produced some interesting results, mostly stating that while it is not endemic to Hawaii it can occur due to imported cases. The information also states that chronic cases exist, with most people having little to no symptoms unless they have a compromised immune system. Naturally, Jumba's immune system isn't used to diseases on Earth, resulting in a severe infection.

Also, one last thing. Something I saw a lot of after the release of the live action remake was a bunch of authors writing fix-its where the remake was just a bad dream. I like that idea, so I decided to include my own version of that towards the end of this chapter.

And that's how we got where we are. If you read this entire thing, then I offer my thanks and a plate of virtual cookies. 🍪

Chapter 9

As the minutes stretched into hours, the fading remnants of the night were gradually eclipsed by the morning sun, the air outside warming slightly. The fan continuously whirred in the corner, helping to cool the room while Jumba slept.

In time, the sliver of sunlight that slipped through the curtains lengthened across his sleeping form, his creation dozing peacefully at his feet. Lilo had been allowed to sleep in as well, the weekend providing a welcome relief from her daily activities at school. She was the first to wake up and was now sitting next to Stitch at the foot of the bed, her feet dangling over the edge of the mattress.

"So when do you think he's gonna wake up?" she asked, the breeze from the fan playfully tugging on her hair. "He's been sleeping ever since Pleakley gave him that medicine."

Stitch shrugged, looking up from his creator.

"He's going to need a lot of sleep in order to get better," said Pleakley, his antenna drooping with fatigue. He lifted a hand, briefly covering his mouth as he yawned. "I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps through half the day after everything he's been through. Though we are going to have to feed him eventually. And he needs something more substantial than just liquids."

"What about giving him medicine? Is he going to need more of that soon too?" Lilo asked, tilting her head as she looked up at Pleakley. Beside her, Stitch lifted his foot and was using it to scratch behind his left ear. He then stretched and moved towards the pillow, nuzzling Jumba's cheek in the early morning sunlight.

"Ah, the innocent curiosity of children." Pleakley chuckled, seemingly pleased with her desire to ask questions and learn. He gave her a pat on the head, as though he were praising a puppy for good behavior. "Administering medication is a fairly simple process. We're going to start with a two-week course of antiparasitic treatments. The transdermal patch will have to be changed twice weekly, approximately every three to four days."

"I wish it was like that for us too," Lilo said, looking over at Jumba's sleeping form. "We have to drink yucky medicine that's supposed to taste like bubblegum. Only it doesn't taste good at all. It tastes like butt and fruity jello spit up."

Stitch stirred beside his creator, catching snippets of their conversation. "Ih, iky iky jugaar," he muttered, his voice still a bit groggy as he was coming out of sleep.

Pleakley grimaced at the little girl's description of Earth medicine. "Well, that doesn't sound very appealing." He then turned his singular eye towards the bed as Jumba shifted beneath the covers. "Oh, I think he's waking up. Jumba, can you hear me? Are you feeling any better this morning?"

All eyes turned towards the scientist, patiently waiting for a response. What they received was nothing more than a ragged whisper, followed by a feeble cough as Jumba attempted to clear his throat.

"How do you think I am feeling?" he said, his voice grating against the raw edges of his throat. He rolled over in bed, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. "Am miserable."

"Perhaps you would feel better if we got some nourishment in your system," Pleakley suggested. "Your body needs nutrients in order to fight off the infection."

Jumba shook his head, a hand coming up to massage his throat. He didn't want to speak if he didn't have to, let alone force himself to partake of the customary practice of chewing and swallowing. It was absurd, not to mention extremely painful, considering his current situation.

"I think his throat hurts," Lilo said, reading Jumba's nonverbal cues. "We should get him something cold, like ice cream or a smoothie."

Pleakley considered him for a moment, thoughtfully stroking his chin with a long, slender finger. "Jumba, if I may?" he politely asked, taking a tentative step towards the bed. "Could I... could I take a look at your throat?"

Sinking into his pillows with a weary sigh, the scientist rolled his eyes and bit back a curse, wanting nothing more than to be left alone so he could sleep. Maybe he was right about this being some form of punishment for his misdeeds, since he now had this walking noodle serving as his own personal nurse. He was surprised Pleakley hadn't dressed the part as well. And yet there was a small part of him that knew he should be grateful for their care and attention, even though his spindly companion could be a bit irritating at times.

"You are being annoyingly persistent, my little one-eyed one," Jumba grumbled, reaching up and adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead. After a moment of hesitation, he opened his mouth, allowing Pleakley to lean in with a small flashlight in hand.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Lilo crawled across the mattress on her hands and knees, moving closer so she could join Pleakley in his examination. "Whoa, alien tonsils!" she said, her eyes widening at the sight.

"Lilo, I hardly think that's appropriate," Pleakley gently admonished, giving her a sideways glance that spoke volumes of his disapproval.

Undaunted by Pleakley's warning, Lilo continued her examination. "Your throat looks... different," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Is it supposed to be all blue and splotchy?"

"Actually no. It's not supposed to look like that." Pleakley lowered the flashlight, switching it off with a click. "His throat is supposed to be a healthy shade of purple, not indigo, which is how it looks when the tissues are inflamed."

"Then we need to help him get better!" She turned to Stitch, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, Stitch. I know just the thing that'll make Jumba's throat feel better." She hopped off the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor, and ran out the door with Stitch following close behind.

"All I am wanting is to get some pieces of quiet," Jumba said, his voice cracking in midsentence. "And then... little girl, with the talking and the play pretend doctor and... and..." His voice gave out, the silence abruptly giving way to another episode of harsh coughing and wheezing.

"Easy now. You need to calm yourself and breathe, Jumba. Don't talk, just breathe." Placing a hand on Jumba's shoulder, Pleakley tried patting and rubbing in small, soothing circles to help ease him through the discomfort. "That's it, slow and steady now. Keep breathing."

His eyes watering from the pain, Jumba looked up at his companion, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Why...?" he managed between wet, hacking coughs. Though he was clearly suffering, there remained a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"Because you need to let us take care of you," Pleakley calmly stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. The one-eyed alien withdrew a floral handkerchief from the pocket of his dress, using it to dab at the ruddy streaks of perspiration that trickled down the side of Jumba's face. "Now, let's get you settled so you can rest. Oh, and I want to check your temperature again before Lilo and Stitch return with their frozen treats."

.oOo.

When Lilo and Stitch entered the room several minutes later, Jumba was propped up on a mound of pillows, a fresh washcloth neatly draped across his forehead. His eyes were closed, with Pleakley close by studying the readout on the thermometer.

"It's still a bit high," he announced, frowning at the numbers. "Though it's not as bad as it was when he collapsed yesterday." He sank onto the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged as he watched Lilo approach the ailing scientist, her small hands holding a glass filled with a thick, frosty liquid.

"Jumba," she said, offering him a chilled beverage. "Look what we made for you."

His eyes fluttered open, looking down at her with curiosity. The brightly colored pieces of fruit made the smoothie look like a tiny edible rainbow. "What is this?" Jumba asked, his voice still a bit rough from his recent coughing episode.

Lilo's smile widened, holding out the colorful concoction. "It's a fruit smoothie. It's made with frozen fruit, ice, and a little bit of juice. It's really good for when your throat hurts."

The scientist eyed the concoction warily. The thought of consuming cold foods for pain relief was entirely foreign, but he was willing to give it a try. He sat up slowly, feeling the mattress shift beneath his weight. He then leaned over and carefully lifted the glass from her hands.

The first sip was a shock to his system, wincing as the cold liquid made contact with the back of his throat. Though it was not unpleasant, the combination of sweet, fruity flavors blending with the cold took a moment to get used to. After taking a moment to adjust to these newly discovered textures and flavors, Jumba took another sip, this time noticing a cool, soothing sensation as he forced himself to swallow. The next thing they knew, he was leaning back against the pillows, his eyes closed in contentment as he continued to slowly sip the sweetened liquid through a straw.

Lilo beamed with pride, glancing over at Pleakley, who was now wearing a look of amusement. "See? He likes it," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "We also found some cough drops and these ginger candies Nani uses when her stomach feels icky."

Jumba responded with a nod, taking another sip. The process of swallowing food was still a bit unusual, but the sweetness and the way it soothed his throat made it worth it. "Da, it's good," he admitted, his words coming out a little easier.

Lilo's smile brightened, and she climbed onto the bed, sitting between Jumba and Pleakley with her own glass of the frosty beverage. "See, Jumba? We'll help you get better," she said, her voice filled with the same confidence that Jumba had in his own scientific prowess.

Stitch, who'd been watching from his place on the rug, climbed up the side of the bed to join the others, his curiosity piqued. "Stitch want taste," he said, holding out his hand for the glass. Lilo giggled, handing it to him. He took a cautious sip, his face scrunching up at the cold. "Ack!" he spluttered, but then took another sip, his expression relaxing into something resembling enjoyment.

There was a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips as Jumba leaned against the pillows, watching as his creation slurped down the rest of the smoothie. "Good!" Stitch joyfully exclaimed, his tail wagging. "More! Stitch want more!"

"Don't worry," Lilo said, taking the empty glass from his paws. "There'll be lots more where that came from." She smiled at Jumba just as he was finishing the last of his smoothie. "We'll keep making them so you can get better. But we might need some help cleaning the kitchen before Nani gets home from work."

"Let me guess. Stitch tried mulching an assortment of Earth produce in the ceiling fan?" Pleakley asked, already fearing the little girl's answer.

"No, not this time." Lilo shook her head. "He just forgot to put the lid on the blender."

Pleakley sighed. "I'll get the mop."

.oOo.

After he finished cleaning the kitchen, Pleakley decided to see if there was more he could do to help his ailing friend. Inspired by Lilo's show of kindness, he ventured into the bathroom and began exploring the medicine cabinet, looking for something that could possibly alleviate Jumba's symptoms.

"I'll have to be mindful of potential drug interactions," he muttered, examining a small jar that contained a thick, creamy substance. "His body might react poorly to substances found on Earth, so we'll need something natural. Less chance of causing unwanted reactions."

He recoiled at the scent of menthol and eucalyptus that wafted from the jar, replacing the lid and setting it aside on the counter. "I can't imagine that being of any use. But this..." He picked up a bottle of calamine lotion, taking a moment to carefully read the instructions on the label. "Now this seems promising."

Before long, Pleakley had gathered an assortment of items, carrying them up the stairs to their shared bedroom. He set everything on the nightstand, next to the baggie of cough drops and ginger lozenges Lilo had swiped from her sister's purse.

"Alright, Jumba, let's get you on the path to healing." His first choice was the bottle of calamine lotion, which drew Lilo's attention as she looked up from her coloring book beside the bed. "It says it's supposed to ease itching and inflammation associated with rashes. It won't cure anything, but it should at least provide relief from your symptoms. I also found this smelly substance that appears to resemble a petroleum-based pine forest," he said, unscrewing the lid and allowing Jumba to take a sniff. The scent was particularly sharp, though it did seem to ease his breathing difficulties after taking a whiff of the powerful fragrance.

"It's a good start, but there's something missing." Lilo turned to Stitch with a mischievous grin on her face, both of them sharing the same idea. The furry experiment nodded and scurried out of the room, where they could hear him rummaging through Nani's closet.

One by one, he tossed various garments over his shoulder, letting them land where they may on the floor. "Ooh, ikata!" Stitch exclaimed, holding up a lacy pink dress and a pink and white striped shirt.

His claws scraping against the floor, Stitch ran down the hall on all fours, the garments held in his jaws. When he reached the one-eyed alien, he held up the clothes he'd found, prancing and waving them excitedly.

Pleakley's enthusiasm was apparent, his eye widening as a smile spread across his face. "What's this?" he asked, reaching for the lacy dress and holding it up to check the size against his lean figure. "Jumba, look! Your little monster brought me the perfect clothing I need to put together a nurse's outfit."

Jumba's mouth dropped open, staring at the sight of Pleakley with his new dress. Seeing the look on his face sent Stitch into a fit of high-pitched cackling, falling over onto his back with his little feet waving in the air.

"Is not funny!" Jumba snapped, raising his voice and immediately regretting it. Wincing and holding his throat, he glared at Stitch before turning back to Pleakley, his voice coming out in the form of a furious whisper. "I already said I am not needing babysitter! Same for nursemaid. Jumba is not needing since he was infant."

"Oh, come now," Pleakley crooned, taking a moment to admire his colorful new outfit. He ducked behind the changing screen, tossing his floral dress over the top and slipping into his new clothes. "Look at yourself, Jumba. You aren't exactly the picture of health, you know."

When the one-eyed alien reappeared, he was wearing his lovely new dress over top of the pink and white shirt, the warm hues perfectly highlighting his pale green skin tone. He sashayed across the floor to uproarious applause from Jumba's creation, who found the situation highly amusing.

"Now I am really being sick," Jumba groaned, slumping against the pillows. He wasn't sure if he could tolerate Pleakley playing nurse for two weeks. It was downright humiliating, being treated like a helpless child when he was the most brilliant scientist in all the galaxy. But considering the alternative, maybe, just maybe, Jumba would learn to behave himself and be a good patient for nurse Pleakley.

Notes:

It's been so long since I last rewatched the series that I completely forgot nurse Pleakley is canon. That's season two episode nine, by the way. Imagine my surprise, seeing him dressed like that when I just finished writing a chapter with him in the same exact outfit lol.

But anyway, this is the major turning point where we finally start to see a blossoming friendship between Pleakley and Jumba as he takes on a more active role as caregiver. Jumba is still going to be a little grumpy like he was at the beginning, but from here on out it'll start looking more like the original Jumba we all know and love. ❤️

Also, a note on Stitch's dialogue in this chapter. Whenever possible, I try to have him speaking Tantalog in my stories. I use the wiki for reference, but unfortunately there isn't a lot that's been translated. I suppose it's not so bad, since he usually speaks a blend of Tantalog and English. But for the sake of canon accuracy, I try not to give him too many lines in English. Just enough so that the reader can understand what he's saying.

It's been an interesting process. Originally, I was going to have him say that Earth medicine is "yuck yuck juice" simply because I thought it would be funny. It sounds like something he would say. Then I checked the wiki and found actual words in Tantalog for that. So there you go. Stitch is back to speaking his native language. 😊