Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Harold sat next to George, in their treehouse beanbag chairs, listening to George give shallow inhales, and swallow his spit as hard as he could, creating a confusing and muffled gulping sound. George had been complaining of a sore throat for three days. Harold remembers, at the start of the three days, George headed outside to walk to school with Harold, and his voice was hoarse. He complained that it hurt a little bit to talk.

       George seemed to spend a majority of that day groaning and drinking water, halfway through the day he decided if he stopped talking, maybe his throat would feel better. It didn’t work.

      George went home and told his parents that his throat hurt. Drinking tea with honey and lemon was George’s mom’s idea. George stuck out his tongue in displeasure at the steaming hot cup of bland liquid, he wasn't that big of a tea fan in the first place. 

      “Maybe drinking something hot will make it stop hurting,” Mrs. Beard said, patting George’s back as she handed him the mug full of tea. George tipped the cup back and drank, hopefully this would work, and he wouldn't have to worry about drinking any more. 

      George drank about three cups of hot tea, and his sore throat went away… for about thirty minutes. Then it came back worse than it was before he drank anything.

      Taking a hot shower was George’s dad’s idea. George took a long hot shower. His sore throat went away… for about ten minutes. Then it came back, not worse, but back.

      So George took another one, and his sore throat went away again… for about five minutes, when eventually he just put on his pajamas and tried another approach.

     The spray medicine that tasted a little bit like cherries, but not really, that was supposed to numb the back of your throat so it wouldn’t be sore was George’s idea. George sprayed the back of his throat ten times with the numbing liquid, and swallowing what was left.

      “This should work, there’s supposed to be high customer satisfaction with this stuff, this is perfect,” George said, before climbing into bed to go to sleep.

      George’s sore throat went away for a good two hours that night… which gave George a little bit of time to sleep, until he swallowed his spit a little after the medicine wore off and the pain shocked him awake. He called for his parents and told them it didn’t work.

      George’s mom decided that maybe it was just a virus, and that George would go to school tomorrow, but if it got any worse, then call them and they’d bring him home.

      The next day, George’s voice was even raspier. “Still hurts to talk huh?,” Harold asked George, as the two walked to school.

      George opened his mouth, and started answering, but it came out sounding squeaky and awkward, so he cleared his throat, before trying again, “Yeah, and to be honest it still hurts to swallow, I didn’t eat breakfast because I didn’t wanna go through the pain anymore,” he said.

      Harold looked concerned, “What’re you gonna eat at lunch today then? You have to eat something,”. George held his head in his hands, and pulled out a thermos.

      “Mom and Dad gave me a thermos full of tea, and I’ll deal with eating when I get home,” George sighed, shaking the thermos of tea a little bit and watching the bubbles rise and fall.

      Harold looked at George, worried, “What if your throat closes up, and you can’t breathe or something?,” Harold asked. George chuckled a little, shaking his head, that can’t happen, he doesn’t have allergies like that.

      That afternoon, George couldn’t really write much, he was too busy clearing his throat and complaining about how much it hurt. His breathing was starting to sound erratic, and Harold made the decision that maybe George should go home and get in bed for a little while.

      "What?! Dude, no way.. I'm alright... I'll just deal with it, we have to get something done," George argued, crossing his arms in defiance, he didn't want this to get in the way of them doing anything.

      George refused, and he went home at the usual time, and tried the same ritual over again, tea, a hot shower, and numbing spray medicine, before getting up and going to school with an even hoarser voice and a worse sore throat the next day.

      This brings us to now, with George complaining that it’s pretty much impossible to swallow, and he doesn’t even want to swallow water anymore. It hurts to breathe, and he can barely do that.

     “You wanna come over to my house?,” Harold asked. George nodded, and the two closed up shop in their tree house, heading inside and camping out in Harold’s bedroom.

      George sat next to Harold’s bed with a cup of tea, and Harold sat on his bed with a cup of Apple Juice, and the two discussed their comic ideas. Harold told everyone that usually bought them that there’d be a slight delay in the release of the next issue, because George couldn’t handle much at the moment. Their consuming public understood.

      George polished off his cup in two, painful gulps, before looking at Harold, every breath he took was quick and short, and his face was disgustingly sweaty.

      George slumped forward onto the floor, taking deep, gasping inhales and pounding his fist on the floor. Like he was choking…. but he hadn’t eaten anything, and he swallowed his tea. Harold was frightened, because he knew none of the tricks their parents suggested were going to work this time.

      “Mom!,” Harold yelled from his bedroom doorway, jumping up and down frantically, hoping with every shred of his being that George was going to be okay.

      Harold’s mother ran upstairs, and stared at Harold, before looking over his head and peering at the still struggling to breathe George. Picking George up and calling loudly for Heidi to join them, she ran downstairs.

      Harold followed, as Ms. Hutchins placed George in the backseat with Harold and Heidi, before driving at a fast pace toward the hospital. Harold could tell she was driving to the hospital, because he memorized the route for all his checkups, and the one time when he fell out of the treehouse and broke his left leg.

      Upon arriving at the hospital, Harold’s mother called George’s parents, telling them where he was, and what had happened. George was still struggling to breathe, sitting on a chair in the waiting room. Harold put a hand on George’s knee, and mumbled to him that it’d all be okay.

      A doctor called George’s last name, and Harold begged to join his mother while George got looked at. Ms. Hutchins agreed, and so did the doctor.

      Looking down George’s throat while Ms. Hutchins explained the situation, from beginning to now, the doctor had a shocked ad disturbed look on her face. “Oh god, this little guy is gonna have to go into surgery as fast as possible, probably tomorrow or the day after,” the doctor said, chuckling nervously.

      Harold started to bite his fingers, “Surgery?!,” he asked, afraid, “Why? Is George dying?!,”. The doctor laughed a little, and put a hand on Harold’s shoulder, before explaining.

      “No, not at all, he just has tonsillitis, it’s an infection where your tonsils can’t fight bacteria or viruses anymore, and they get all gross and swollen in the back of your throat. Originally, before the inflammation, they’re around the size of grapes or pecans. George’s are about the size of oranges, which is bad, because it means they’re closing his throat and making it almost impossible for him to breathe,” the doctor said, placing her tongue depressor in the bio hazard container in the corner of the room.

      “So, what’s gonna happen to George during surgery?,” Harold asked, still nervous.

      “We’re going to give him medicine to make him sleepy and numb so he won’t feel us in the back of his throat, and then we’re going to grab his tonsils with a special rope device, and pull the rope closed so it cuts them out, before burning the openings closed so they don’t bleed a whole bunch, and then we put his tonsils in a jar,” the doctor continued to explain.

      “Wow… ,” Harold said, amazed. George was now just staring into the space and instinctively breathing on the examination table.

      “Yeah, and when the procedure is over, George will have to stay at home for a while until the burns in the back of his throat heal, but during that time, all he can eat is ice cream,” the doctor said, trying to invoke excitement from Harold, to get his mind off of the surgery she just described.

      “Ice cream?,” Harold asked, both intrigued and confused, “Why ice cream?,”.

      “Because after George has surgery, his throat is really sensitive, and he can’t swallow anything extremely hot or with a lot of texture, because it’s going to hurt, ice cream is smooth, ice cold, and easy to swallow, so it’s pretty much all he’s allowed to eat,” the doctor explained.

      Harold smiled, just a little bit, because at least there was an upside to all of this surgery stuff. "What's the surgery called?," Harold asked. 

      "A tonsillectomy, 'ectomy' means surgical removal," the doctor responded, before heading into the other room to converse with George's parents, who'd just arrived to their wing of the hospital.

      Harold watched as George’s parents arrived to arrange a schedule for the surgery, as Harold, Heidi, and their mother went home. Harold was anxious, and begged George’s parents to tell him when George gets out of surgery. They agreed, and Harold prepared himself that night for a little bit of waiting... without his best friend.

Chapter Text

Harold spent two days waiting, spending miserable days without George, no pranks, no comics, no fun, nothing, just missing George.

Harold noticed something odd during the few days where George was away having surgery, Melvin wasn’t at school either. Which was strange, because it seems like Melvin’s always there, no matter what happens.

Then when Harold gets home from school on the second day, George’s parents told Harold that he could visit George now, he got out of surgery the previous night, and now he could have visitors.

Harold hopped in the car with George’s parents, and drove to the hospital, before riding the elevator to George’s wing of the hospital, and running into George’s room, seeing George, revitalized and tonsil-free, with a bowl of strawberry ice cream.

“George!,” Harold yelled ecstatically, running towards him with his arms outstretched, and jumping onto his bed next to him. George grinned widely, and set his ice cream on the table in front of him, embracing his best friend tightly.

“Ha-,” George paused, wincing, before starting his sentence again in a near-whisper, “Harold!,”. Harold and George embraced for a long period of time, just grinning and hugging, it was amazing.

“Hey, Harold, you wanna see my tonsils?,” George asked. Harold nodded, as George reached down for the floor next to his bed, and pulled a jar full of strange fluid into his lap. Resting in the jar, were his two, red, infected orange-sized tonsils.

“What are those yellow things in your tonsils, George?,” Harold asked, staring at the yellow chunks seemingly protruding from George’s tonsils. They looked like cubes of dehydrated cheddar cheese.

“Oh these? They’re called tonsil stones, they’re like.. collections of bacteria that fill your tonsils until they turn into those nasty cubes,” George said, sticking out his tongue in disgust. Harold laughed with him as he watched George shovel in another spoonful of ice cream.

“How much ice cream have you had since you got out of surgery?,” Harold asked, as George swallowed his last spoonful of strawberry, and sat back against the pillows of his hospital bed.

“A lot, I’m pretty sure that I’ve had at least ten since I got out five hours ago, because I haven’t eaten in days,” George said, his voice still extremely raspy.

Harold and George both stopped talking completely as they heard a familiar voice behind the curtains that divided George and whoever he was sharing a room with. The turning of what seemed to be a book’s pages could also be heard.

Harold gave George a look, before leaving George’s bed, and walking over to the curtain, his footsteps silent and quick, before he pulled the curtain back, and backed away out of shock.

“Melvin?!,” Harold asked, confused as he stared at the figure before him

Yes, that was indeed Melvin Sneedly sitting in that hospital bed, freckled cheeks rosy with fever, holding a popsicle in one hand and a book in the other. “Yes, that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Melvin replied, not even looking up from his book. His voice was gravelly, and awkward sounding.

“What are you doing here?,” George asked from his bed, staring at Melvin in disbelief. Melvin rolled his eyes from behind his glasses, and didn’t even bother looking up from his book.

“I’m here waiting for Mommy and Dad to come take me home after my tonsillectomy, Marvin is in the hospital gift shop buying… euch- gummy worms, and I decided to finish my book,” Melvin explained hoarsely, giving his popsicle a quick lick, before turning to the next page of his book.

“You got your tonsils removed too?,” George asked, before beaming and directing his attention to a nurse that just entered the room with a new bowl of ice cream for him.

“Yes… sadly, after about seven to ten bouts of strep throat and my non-stop coughing at night, they arranged for me to have my tonsils taken out,” Melvin said, nonchalant as he continued to flip through his book, what appeared to be a copy of Homer: The Odyssey .

“I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy for eating so much sugar, Melvin, what with the box of popsicles and all,” Harold said, snickering.

His snickers faded, however, when Melvin, completely straight-faced, turned the box to face Harold, and on the front, in big, bold white letters it read “Sugar Free”. Melvin went back to what he was doing.

George spooned some ice cream into his mouth, and swallowed, smiling gently at the fact that this food didn’t hurt his throat to swallow.

George’s parents entered the room, handing George his clothes, folded, and hugging him.

“You can come home today, George, go put your clothes on and we’ll take you boys home,” Mrs. Beard said, leaving the room with her husband soon after.

Almost as if on cue, Marvin ran into the room, holding a bag and grinning, launching himself onto Melvin’s hospital bed. “Mommy and Daddy are here to pick us up!,” he said. Melvin grinned, and stepped out of bed, taking his clothes out of a duffel bag under his bed, and heading to the bathroom.

“Hey Harold?,” George asked.

“Yeah George?” Harold responded.

“Keep a reminder about Melvin having tonsillitis for me… I got an idea,” George said.

“Comic?,” Harold asked.

George shook his head. “No, just… something we know about him… just something we know,” he said.

Harold nodded in agreement, and scrawled it down onto a piece of paper, as George headed into a different bathroom to get changed and head home.

Harold made a different note to himself, out of pure separation anxiety, “Never get tonsillitis, never ever, can’t handle it,”. Best friends have to stick together, and they can’t do that if one of them is having glands removed.