#no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You lean into the doorway and don’t ask why he’s talking like a moron.  “Hey, Rock’ika,” you greet casually.  “What’s the matter?”

He whirls on you, glaring from runny, red eyes.  “Whad?” he snarls.

You put your hand over your mouth.  After a moment, you ask, “Do you have a cold?”

He snorts wetly and continues to glare.  “Doe, I jus’ feld like nod using by dose for a few days,” he sneers.  “Of course I god a freakid code!”

You’re laughing.  And to make up for the fact that you’re laughing, you say helpfully, “You should get that looked at.”

He waves you off scornfully.  ”Whadeber, I’ll be fide.”

"I mean it, Rock’ika.  Don’t be atin.”

He points a finger at your face.  “I don’ know whad dad beans, but I’ll be id all I wan’.”

You’re pressing your hand against your mouth, but it’s too late.  He can tell how hard you’re laughing.  It’s not your fault he perfectly illustrated the definition of atin.  “It’ll go away faster if you get it seen to.”

Rocket stands stock still.  “I’b nod goi’g to a doctor.”

Oh.  You hadn’t thought about it.  You’ve seen him get help before, but there is a difference between Groot or you or a field medic and going into a medical center.  “Sorry, Rocket.”  You aren’t giving up, though.  “I’m going to get you some medicine, though.  I’ll bring it back to you.”

He snorts again, goes slightly cross-eyed, and growls, “Fide.”

He protests like that over the next two days, because you’re there to make sure he takes the medicine and gets rest.  But you notice that if you ever go too long without fussing over him, he gets absolutely offended.  It seems his muttering is all the thanks you’re going to get.

NO STOP HIM BEFORE HE HURTS THE DUCK