"But Xander! It itches!" Andrew whined.

"It's Chicken Pox, Andrew. You're supposed to itch. Shut up."

"You're cranky when you're sick."

"I wouldn’t be sick if you hadn’t given everyone Chicken Pox!"

The boys rested in their bed.

"My back itches. I could reach it if…"

"Don’t scratch, Andrew. I want to scratch too, but that’s what the oven mitts are for. Buffy’ll kill you if you take them off."

"You know, she didn’t say we couldn’t scratch each other…"

"How are we going to scratch in oven mitts?" Xander asked.

Andrew had a plan. He always had a plan.