Hehkshew! [REQUESTS OPEN!]

My blog is for sickfic content that I wouldn't post elsewhere. A place to share ideas, writing and drawings.

Before I get onto Fandom's and other things such as that, I only have two rules:

Reblogging and commenting on my posts is absolutely fine! I actually really enjoy reading what people leave in the tags

Shipping hate is not tolerated here! This part of the internet is already niche enough as is, and we don't need that here.

With that out of the way here's some navigation for you:

My Writing is under the #my fic tag!

My Artwork is under the #my art tag!

What I'll write/draw:

Sneeze content

Emeto

Illness

Any other sickfic things

(Whichever I write/draw for will be tagged correctly so you're able to mute the tag if that's something you don't want to see.)

The only thing I won't write or draw is Scat, Omorashi or Age Play/Regression. You're free to request anything else.

Fandoms I'll write/draw for:

H/azbin Hotel

- If you’re interested in requesting or suggesting a ship involving Angel and Alastor, I’ll prefer only to be doing those if it’s R/adiodust. It’s just the dynamic I enjoy working with the most!

I'm open to other ships and don't mind drawing/writing them. But please respect mine!

Requests for drawings/writing are ALWAYS open!

Cleaning day, the most dreaded day in Hell.

This wasn’t an official day they’d picked, not by far. But their wardrobe was getting rather… Over the top, that would be the right way to word it.

How had they come to that conclusion? Fat nuggets nearly getting trampled by the mountain of heels that fell, nearly smothering the poor thing.

“Alright, half of this shit needs to go.” Angel sighed as he picked up his beloved pig, and that’s how it was settled. Which was how they got here.

The Crackle of the radio humming in the background, playing a familiar distant tune as Angel and Alastor got to work. They’d been sharing a room for a while now, mostly anyway.

Angel’s room that the Radio Demon occasionally found himself sneaking into to sleep, not that this was something he’d admit.

But now it was a little more than nightly visits, Angel’s wardrobe had also been decorated by various belongings, coats he’d never owned, a nauseating amount of red which was too much even for him.

Both stood in it as they tried to organise through the Hell it contained. Already designated boxes alay, ones to throw, keep and donate.

Donation wasn’t really a thing in Hell, it was more like go around and see who wants free shit, and if not? Leave a box out and somebody would be sure to steal it.

They were making decent progress! Though there was quite a bit of… Distractions.

Specifically Angel getting excited everytime he found something even a few months old, claiming how he’d not seen it in, ‘forever’. Moving onto the next thing after a gentle prompting by Alastor, before immediately finding something new as the cycle repeated.

It wasn’t just clothes in there though. Strange things he didn’t remember too well, most of it was Alastors stuff to be fair. An alarming amount of Radio’s, even for the broadcasting Demon.

“Alright, ya’ can’t ask me to throw out any more shit if you’re not going to do anything about these.” Angel huffed, arms full of the miniature pieces of technology.

“They’re vintage, Dear.” He hummed delightfully.

“Well yeah, we died in the 1900’s, everything's vintage. That ain’t exactly a shocker, babe.” Rolling his eyes as he placed them carefully back where they once were.

“Ugh, I swear this thing’s a black hole.” Angel muttered, yanking out another pile of clothes, not paying half mind as he flickered through it. Throwing a pair of Heel’s over his shoulder, whacking Alastor in the back.

“Watch it.” “Bite me.” He smirked.

As he moved to throw the clothes into the trash, he froze as his hands brushed across something familiar.

“What’s this?” He murmured, tugging out the faded pale pink sweater. It was old– Really old, rhinestones carefully placed across the chest. Slightly frayed cuffs and a faint stain against its hem. But Angel’s eyes lit up like fireworks as he held the piece, the memory of it washing over him in waves, an excited gasp.

Alastor looking up from his own organizing, humming as his curiosity piqued. “What in Hell’s name have you unearthed now?”

“This!” Angel exclaimed with excitement, holding out the pale-pink sweater as if it were a trophy. “I used to fucking love this thing! I haven’t seen it in years, What the fuck is it doin’ all the way burried down here?”

Alastor approached, adjusting his monocle for dramatic effect as he tilted his head. “Hmm, judging by the state of it, I’d wager it was buried for a good reason. But pray tell, what’s so special compared to the thousands of over pink sweaters you have stored away in here?”

Angel huffed as if Alastor were stupid, pressing the sweater against his chest as he grinned. “I used to wear this thing all the time when I first got here! It’s so cozy! And cmon, babe. Look at it, It’s adorable!” He spun around as he held it, slipping it over his head with ease. 

It hung loosely on his frame, the faded pink contrasting perfectly against his fur. He smoothed the fabric over his torso, beaming with excitement. “How do I look?”

Alastor paused, his smile softening into something more genuine. “Ridiculous. But also… Rather endearing.”

“Ha! I knew it,” Angel said, striking a pose. Earning an eye roll from Alastor as they both returned to the task at hand, yet again having successfully both get distracted.

For the next half an hour, they fell into an easy rhythm. Angel sorted through the lower shelves of clutter while Alastor reorganised it, making more space for new junk that was bound to fill the small room within a month. 

They had a system, one which worked without issue.

At first, anyway.

But as the minutes ticked by, Angel began to sniffle, it was subtle to begin with. A small scrunch of the nose, rubbing at his face.

“Hh-hHH’kshh!”

“Bless you,” Alastor said absentmindedly, not even looking up from his task.

“Guh, Thanks,” Angel mumbled, rubbing at his nose with another sharp sniff. He assumed it was the dust– After all, they hadn’t cleaned this thing in fuck knows how long.

A bit of dust? Eh, something that came with the territory.

But then the sneezing started to come in fits.

It wasn’t fast at first, but now?

“hih’HH- Hh’TSSHHhh! ihHHT’KSHHH!” Angel doubled over, his body wracked breathless as he’d sneezed for the sixth time in the past minute. Clothes he’d once been holding now helplessly abandoned on the carpet.

“Goodness.” Alastor exclaimed, putting a hand on Angel’s back, “Are you quite alright?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Angel managed between sneezed, breath hitching again almost immediately. “It’s just- hhHHih’kshhh! Hhih’KSshew!!” Gasping. “Fuck, it’s gotta just be the dust, probably.”

Alastor frowned unconvinced, a rare flicker of concern crossing his face. “That seems a bit extreme, even for you.”

But Angel only waved him off, watery eyes and pink nose betraying him. “It’s nothin’, just allergies… Or somethin’”

Alastors eyes trailed over him, watching as Angel rubbed his palm against his nose with a wince, faltering as his gaze drifted down to the sweater. A distant memory, almost as if he could recall something.

“Darling?” Already knowing the answer. “Is there any possibility you could be allergic to that?”

Angel froze, pausing mid-sniffle, blinking down at him, “Say, what?”

“The sweater,” Alastor said, pointing a jagged finger in angel’s chest, touching the clothing as if it were some cursed artifact. “I distinctly recall you wearing it during our first winter together. You declared it, ‘bad vibes’ and swore to never wear it again.”

“Aw, come on! That was, like, a hundred years ago! I thought I outgrew that or somethin. –” He broke off, another harsh sneeze shaking his frame.

“Bless you, you’re not wearing the sweater.”

“But—” Angel sniffled, looking down at it with despair. “But I like it! It’s comfy and… Hh.. Cute- And- Ah’nd.. Hh- hHHih’kSsHHEw!” He groaned, rubbing at his nose. “This sucks.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Alastor said, moving his hands to the bottom of the offending item, in position. “Which is exactly why I’m taking it off.”

Angel gasped, bottom set of hands grabbing onto his as Alastor gently let go. “C'mon, Bambi! It’s not that bad… I’ll get used to it?”

“Get used to an allergy?” Alastor huffed, “Absolutely not. I won’t have you making yourself unwell over a piece of clothing, no matter how ‘cute’ it is.”

Angel pouted, his voice turning whiny. “But—” 

“No Buts,” Alastor interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Off with it, Darling.”

Reluctantly, Angel began to pull the sweater over his head, his movements slow and exaggerated like a child being forced to give up their favourite toy. Handing it to Alastor with a sigh of defeat.

“You’re such a buzzkill, y’know that? I freakin’ love this sweater.” 

“And yet, it seems the sentiment is not mutual,” Alastor said dryly, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to his sniffling spouse. “For the sake of your health, I think it’s best we retire it once more.”

Angel sniffled and blew his nose noisily, his pout visible even from behind the cloth. “You suck. Can’t I, like, just wear it sometimes? Maybe it won’t be so bad if I don’t have it on for too long.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, “Are you truly willing to endure suffering and misery just for the sake of fashion?”

“Don’t I do that anyway…?”

“Angel.” He frowned.

“Just… You’re not gonna throw it out, right?” He frowned, looking up at him genuinely.

Alastors expression softened, gently brushing the hair out of Angel’s face, “Darling, I understand how much this means to you, but I’d prefer not to see you suffer. You still have plenty of other clothing that’s just as delightful and far less hazardous to your well-being.”

Angel looked down at the sweater in Alastor’s hands, then back up at him, pout deepening as his shoulders slumped. “I guess, but It’s not the same. This one’s special, y’know?”

Alastor’s smile returned, warmer and more genuine. “And That's precisely why we’ll keep it. Perhaps not as daily wear, but as a cherished keepsake. Something to remind you of the fond memories it holds.”

Angel considered it as his fingers brushed against the soft fabric, nodding with a sigh, finally smirking. “Yeah… I guess that works. Doesn’t mean I can’t sneak it on once in a while, though.” 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Alastor huffed with a chuckle, folding it neatly in his arms as he placed it aside. “Now how about I make us some tea while you finish recovering? Cleaning can wait.”

Angel smirked, leaning his head against Alastor’s shoulder. “Tea sounds good. But don’t think I’m lettin’ you off the hook for dinner, Babe.”

Alastor laughed, the sound filling the room like a melody. “Perish the thought, My Dear. I wouldn’t dare.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, the pink sweater remained on the dresser. Forgotten and unworn.

The night had certainly been eventful. Hours after hours of constant drinking, far too many tumbles and just enough confrontations for the two to finally call it in for a night.

Angel stumbling as Alastor helpfully pushed open the door to their room, his Darling spider giggling like a maniac. Each step unsteady as a toddlers as Alastor followed closely behind. It has certainly been tiring, and had no better plans in mind than to head to bed.

But first, he had to deal with this whole situation. Shrugging his shoulders as he started to slip off his coat, sloppily draping it over the back of Angels overly-dramatic pink chair. Angel not even taking off his boots as he flopped onto their bed.

Alastor rolling his eyes as he yanked Angel’s leg, using one hand as he pulled one of the boots off, Angel using what little coordination he had to kick the other one off. The unfortunate result of far too many drinks with far too little time to breathe in between.

Angels makeup now utterly smudged from tears, laughter and sweat and definitely the unhelpfulness of rubbing at his face all night. What was once almost perfect a mere few hours ago, now ruined beyond unfixability.

No amount of setting powders would’ve been enough to preserve it. But now, it was time for bed, so his makeup didn’t need fixing. What it needed, was removal.

As Alastor watched Angel fumble for his phone three times and eventually end up dropping it, Alastor realised that he would in-fact, likely be the one to initiate in its removal.

Sighing as he loomed over his darling husband, glancing down at him exasperatedly. Both hands on his hip in mock judgment, “My Dear,” He began, not failing to hide the amusement in his tone. A slight grin as he tilted his head down. “You’ve truly outdone yourself this time.”

Angel only snickered at that, rolling onto his back so he could gazedly stare at Alastor, “Cmonnnn, Babe! Stop being such a… Such a buzzkill.” He huffed, as if he’d been being bugged all night. (He hadn’t.)

“You need to learn to uh… Y’know, live a little! Or uh…” Humming in thought as he tried to think of the Hell equivalent. “Or maybe die a little…?” Amusedly rolling on the bed once again, nearly falling off as Alastor leaned forward to gently push him back.

“Outstanding.” Angel pretending to ignore the teasing glare he was receiving.

Angel sniffled, rubbing at his face again, something he’d been doing all night. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be mad at me Bambi… You’re just envious because I’m prettier than you when I’m all hammered.”

Alastor huffed again, reaching over to Angel’s vanity table as he grabbed one of his wet-wipes, “I’m not envious of you, and sure as Hell not of the bottle of champagne you demolished, but I certainly do pity it.”

Angel grinned sleepily, his expression changing as he faltered with a sniffle, blinking blankly as his nose scrunched, mouth opening as he sniffled.

“Angel–”

“Hh’Hihkshew! Hihhkpkshew!”

Sneezing twice as he directed it at his chest, a wet sniffle after with a muffled groan.

“Goodness, bless you.” Alastor muttered, leaning back a smidge from the spray zone as he adjusted his position seated on the bed, leaning closer as he started to run the wet-wipe under Angel’s eyes, starting on the running mascara. “If you’re going to be doing that please at least cover your mouth.”

Angel gave a light snicker, sniffling again as he tilted his head back so that Alastor could wipe at his face better. His face covered with a drunken flush, red spreading across his cheeks. “Cmon, you don’t gotta be such a germaphobe. Ain’t nothing I’ve ever got you ain’t caught before.”

“Yes, yes. I’m aware, sickness and in health. But you aren’t sick, just temporarily… Intoxicated. Anywho, that’s hardly besides the point. It’s the principal of the matter.”

“Principal of the what now?” Angel mumbled, sniffling again as he leaned back fully, flopping back into the pillows. Alastor giving a huff as he grabbed Angels collar to pull him back up again.

“Quit leaning back, I’m trying to help you. At least let me take your makeup off before you pass out.”

Angel snorted, half-assedly leaning into Alastor as he sat up, head dropping down as he got it tilted up again, muttering into his chest. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Truely.” Sarcasm dripping.

Angel silent once again as he sniffled, blinking dazedly.  “Hhhh..”

“Angel.” Alastor warned again, wiping at Angel’s face.

“Shhh.” He whispered, raising a finger as he pressed it against Alastor’s lips, “Shhh, I’m fine.” He mumbled, licking his lips as he leaned back,pressing his palm up against his nose as he sniffled. “hih’ksSHhh!”

This time giving no time to react as he jerked his head forward, successfully spraying Alastors hand. 

“Ah-!” Alastor pulled back again, unsprayed hand against Angel’s chest to keep him upright, “Darling, cover your mouth.” He warned.

“Whoops… Sorry babe.” He snickered, hiccuping mid laugh as his eyes blinked watery. “Y’know… You’re so- Cute when you’re mad.”

Alastor gritted his teeth as he kept up the time, “You really do intend to just keep on testing my patience tonight, don’t you?” Running his thumb under Angel’s eyes, a gentle claw scratching off one of the particularly stubborn lumps of dried mascara. “Now hold still, if that’s something you’re still able to manage.”

He got a response in the form of a half-assed hum, grinning like a fool, “You’re so bossy, that’s why I married you.”

“Funny, I thought we married purely for the tax benefits?”

Alastor silently pouted, Alastor continuing amusedly, “I’d feel more pity if it weren’t for the fact you decided to spend tonight drowning yourself in alcohol. I shouldn’t have to be doing this, you know.”

“But then I wouldn’t get a cute deer taking care of me.”

“You’re not dying.”

Angel didn’t respond, glossy look in his eyes.

Alastor froze, squinting as he muttered. 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Hhh… Hhh…” Angel breathed, Alastor leaning back in precaution.

But nothing came. Angel slumping as he leaned his head further against Alastor’s chest, pressing against it. Alastor sighing as he tilted Angel’s head up so that he would look at him.

“All good?”

Angelnodding tiredly, Alastor humming in amusement as he got back to work. Reaching over as he grabbed a second wet wipe, the previous one having served its purpose. Gently running it over Angel’s eyelids, making him close his eyes, slightly twitching under his touch.

“You’re impossible.” He muttered, the unmissable hint of fondness clear in his tone.

Angel wheezing with small laughter as he sloppily gave an attempt at kissing Alastor’s cheek, one which Alastor leaned back from. “Love you…” He mumbled, “Even though you sound like you wanna kill me…”

Alastor barked a laugh at that, tucking a stubborn piece of Angel’s hair out of the way as he hummed, “And I suppose I tolerate you too, even if you’re being insufferable.” Reaching into his pocket as he grabbed for a handkerchief, “Blow.”

Angel sniffled as he obediently did so, sniffling afterwards as he drowsily grinned up at his husband. “Thaaaanks baby, you’re so good to me.” He slurred.

“Don’t mistake my tolerance for sweetness.” He replied dryly, his touch keeping gentle as he continued at working to remove the stubborn makeup. “Really, what on earth possess you to put this much on your face that it takes this much effort to get off?” He was mostly talking to himself at this point, “Surely you can’t do this even when you’re sober.”

Angel yawned sleepily as he blinked almost frog-eyed, huffing, “You know, you’re a real softie under all that spooky bastardness. Don’t think I don’t know it.”

“Oh, now is that so?” He mused.

“Yup!” He grinned toothily, poking at Alastor’s nose with his glove, who in return took ahold of his arm, pulling his silk glove off, doing the same with the other, “You’re a big ol’ buck who loves taking care of his stupid husband, admit it.”

Alastor chuckled lowly, “I’ll admit no such thing. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and sleep.”

“Rude,” Angel pouted, flopping backwards again as Alastor grabbed his collar, holding him up like a stray dog, giggling. “Wait you think ‘m pretty?” Alastor ignoring the question, working on keeping him alive in silence.

Angel hitching and before Alastor could react—-

“Hheh’ktshew!, Hhknkshh!”

“Angel!” Alastor snapped, letting go of Angel’s collar immediately as the spider dropped back onto the pillows, Alastor grimacing as he wiped a hand against his face, feeling how it was now damp from the unfortunate misfire.

But oh, Angel was in hysterics, drunkenly snickering so hard he had tears dripping down his face. Tears that would’ve no doubt made his mascara drip if Alastor hadn’t intervened in removing it. Cackling amusedly as his eyes watered.

“I’ve warned you enough times.” Alastor huffed, grabbing the pillow besides Angel’s head, holding it up as if he were about to smother him. Angel shrieking as he pulled back drunkenly, squirming away as he curled into himself tighter. Messily blocking his head as Alastor swung the pillow down hard. 

“Collateral Damage, babe!”

Shrieking again with a squeal of giggles as Alastor hit him again in the face with the pillow again, kicking shakily at his failed attempts to block it, stammering through the laughter.

“I’m sorry! I’m s-sorry! I swear.. Hh.. I didn’t-... Hhh…” Giggling as he sniffed, “I didn’t mean to.. to-”

Alastor quickly having learned, slamming the pillow in front of Angel’s face just in time.

“Hhh’hHHKSHhhh!”

“There,” Alastor said, removing the pillow from Angel’s face with a satisfied hum, “Crisis averted.”

Angel blinking up at him, sniffling with an annoyed eye-roll, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “You’re so extra.”

“Perhaps, but don’t deny that you adore it.”

Angel crossing his arms with a sleepy grin Alastor gently lowering Angel down so that he was nuzzled against the unnecessary amount of pillows on the bed.

Angel weakly grabbing at Angel’s shirt, pulling him down so that he could lay next to him, eyes glazed as they were full of adoration.

“You’re my favourite, y’know that?”

Alastors grin softened, gently leaning as he pressed a kiss against Angel’s forehead, “And you my Dear, are my greatest challenge.”

“You love it.”

“Perhaps I do.” He admitted, head rested against Angels.

The room growing quieter, softer.

Quietly speaking as he muttered, “And you’re the most infuriatingly wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Angel’s eyes long fluttered shut, his breathing evening out as he’d finally drifted off. Alastor sighing in relief as he pulled the blanket over him, tucking him in carefully.

Alastor allowed himself to enjoy the silence, stroking Angel’s hair with careful fingers. “Sleep well, my dear,” He murdered.

When Alastor usually awoke in the mornings, he was immediately filled with motivation, to be in the mood for constant Chaos in Charlie's silly little Hotel. Messing around with stupid antics and mind games enough to drive anyone in Hell mad. 

He had his routines, to wake up earlier than everyone else. Be able to spend some time unbothered by the resting world and get ready.

And he was always the first one awake.

Except now this time, he wasn’t.

How he was able to tell that? He’d gotten prepared as he felt he should, still in his sleepwear but presentable enough on the odd chance he did encounter another sinner.

The second he stepped out from his bedroom out towards the hallway, he felt the difference in the air immediately. As if the entire energy of the Hotel had suddenly changed.

But there was a difference in the air, blinking as he was greeted by the unmistakable scent of freshly made coffee. Mixed in with a strong menthol smell, almost overpowering. Narrowing his eyes as he tightened his dressing gown belt up tighter, moving himself to go investigate.

As he stepped down the far too many stairs, he felt a twinge of relief at the emptiness, he certainly couldn’t see anyone here. He still kept guarded regardless, just as a precaution. 

He’d moved to the living room, seemingly the source of the smell by judging how strong it was. Almost letting out a gasp at the scene displayed in front of him.

The living room was demolished.

Figuratively of course, but the room looked a wreck.

Strewn across the velvety couches were dozens of crumpled tissues, half-harradly thrown across as if whoever had used them had no energy to make any effort at aiming towards a bin.

The table littered with various bottles and cups. Alastor hesitating as he picked it up, holding it at a distance but close enough to be able to read the letters. A brown bottle of cold-medicine. Half empty as if it had been shotgunned like a drink. Guanty bold letters displayed on the front, ‘INSTANT RELIEF!’

“What in Hell’s name…?” Alastor muttered, taking a cautious step back, pausing immediately as he felt something wet soak against his exposed heel from his slippers. A grimace, “Ugh-” as he stepped back from the offending object, trying ever so hard to forget what that wetness might be from.

Alastor wasn’t a germaphobe.

Not by a long shot, he wasn’t afraid of something as simple as germs!

Yet did he wince every time someone started to sniffle a little too close to him? Leaving the room the moment someone had even the slightest of mentions of feeling nauseous? Washing his hands every time he touched anything in the Hotel after finding out one of the members were sick?

…That was perfectly reasonable!

Regardless, he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh as the implications began to become far more clear. “Wonderful… Tissues… And cold medicine…”

His voice trailing off as his ear started to flicker, hearing the sound of the door creaking. Turning to it as his eyes focused on the bathroom door. He glanced back at  the mess around him with half a mind to burn down the whole room when he heard it. A harsh wet sound echoing loudly from the room.

‘...Hh’ihh.. Hh- hHHihH’KSHHH!’

The noise was unmistakably identifiable, and so was the voice.

“Oh no…” Alastor muttered to himself, realisation slamming into him at full force, already gathering the implications of someone being unwell. But his partner?

This was worse than he thought.

He now had to face two equally horrifying fates.

Either abandoning his delicately crafted morning plans to retreat away from this whole forming mess, or face the infectious chaos that would await him if he stayed here any longer.

Surely Angel would be fine, he didn’t need Alastor! He was tough enough to handle himself. 

Alastor could just vanish and everything would be okay, he just needed to-

‘Hih’KSHHhh!!’ 

Another harsh sneezed followed by a muffled groan, sounding fully pitiful. He faltered, feeling stirring with something… Unexpected for the situation.

Annoyance warred with concern, and what was worse? Concern was winning.

He sighed, already regretting the decision he knew he’d already made.

As he tentatively creeped closer to the bathroom door, he kept his footsteps light, as if it would keep everything else quiet. “Darling?” He called softly, tone dampered with caution, “What on earth is going on in there?”

The door creaked open just enough for Alastor to take in the pitiful sight. Angel Dust, wrapped in one of Alastor’s oversized red robes, one he’d have to burn later. Sat on the floor, knees to his chest as he sniffled, a box of tissues sitting besides him. Almost fully empty as a few were littered around the tiles.

His fur ruffled and matted, a slight dampness to it of sweat. Alastor not needing to be an idiot to miss how clear it was Angel had a fever. Yet his cheeks were flushed, from whether sickness or embarrassment, Alastor couldn’t immediately tell.

“Oh, hey Babe.” Angel croaked, his voice barely recognizable beneath the layers of congestion dampering it, he sniffled loudly as he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, “Don’t mind me, just dyin’ a little. No biggie”

Alastor recoiling instinctively, holding onto the doorframe so he wouldn’t force himself to leave. Messing with the lapel of his gown as if the fabric would shield him from the miasma of illness lingering. “I take it you’re unwell?” He asked, though the answer was glaringly obvious.

Angel snorted, though his breath hitched as he ducked his head down to sneeze again, “Mm, what tipped ya off? Me sneezin’ louder than a gunshot or the fact I’m lookin’ like something you’d drag in after a hunt?”

Alastor wrinkled his nose, not pleased with the confirmation he’d asked for. “Bless you…” A part of his mind screaming at him to retreat. But as he looked closer at Angel, slumped and curled up looking utterly miserable on the bathroom floor, he felt  a twinge of regret.

He’d never really seen Angel like this, and it was a little frightening.

He wanted to leave but he didn’t want to leave Angel.

He needed to take responsibility.

“Well,” Alastor began, carefully picking how he chose his words, “I can’t say that I’m exactly thrilled about this turn of events. But…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff, “If you’re going to wallow in illness, could you perhaps do so without leaving your… Remains all over my furniture?”

Angel’s lips twitched into a weak smirk, “Aw, c’mon, you ain’t mad, are ya? Can’t help that I’m all snotty and dying.”

Alastor opened his mouth to retort how Angel was very much still alive, but faltered as Angel let out a weak cough. It sounded sickening, not in a way that revolted him, though it did have a good effect at doing that. But it sounded in a way that made him feel far more sympathetic.

He closed his mouth as he knelt down carefully, almost hesitant as if he were approach something rabid. Deciding to just go for it as he placed a firm hand on Angel’s shoulder, squeezing it as he rubbed at it slightly.

“I’m not mad at you for being unwell.” Alastor said at last, softened. “But, I am concerned. You do honestly look absolutely dreadful.”

“Gee, thanks.” Angel muttered sarcastically, tone lacking his usual bite.

Alastor’s mind raced, on one hand now that they’d had this little talk, he wanted to now leave and put as much space between them as possible until this little illness went away. But on the other hand, he would be a rather shitty partner if he were to just leave Angel like this. Not when he was clearly suffering.

“Stay right here,” Alastor instructed, rising to his feet. “I’m… going to handle this.”

Angel blinked up at him with a sniffled, squinting his exhausted eyes skeptically, “Handle what? You ain’t planning to lock me in a room to quarantine me, are ya?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Alastor snapped, a little called out that Angel had so quickly guessed the thoughts in his mind. “I’m going to fetch you some proper supplies. Because clearly you seem incapable of taking care of yourself in this state.” 

Before Angel could respond, Alastor disappeared into the kitchen. Leaving him alone. A few minutes of silence before his favourite Deer had returned to the bathroom, a tray precariously balanced in his hands. “Since you seem keen on making this the room you’ll infect, I’ve brought remedies.”

Angel stared at the tray with a sniffle, expression unreadable. “So, what’s all this?”

The tray being meticulously balanced with an array of items. A steaming mug of tea, a small dish of honey, and what only looked to be more medication and a scarf.

“Provisions,” Alastor grinning,  matter-of-factly, setting the tray down on the bathroom counter as he grabbed the scarf, wrapping it around Angel's neck despite the two being indoors.

He adjusted, grabbing the cup of tea as he carefully helped it into Angels shaking hands. “And some tea may help your throat, it wouldn’t be nice of you to die on me, Darling.” He hummed. 

“Of course.” Angel hummed, grinning exhaustedly. “You’re such a weirdo, y’know that?”

“Thank you,” Alastor replied with a small smile, another firm hand on Angel’s shoulder as distant reassurance. “Now,” He stood. “Drink up, and for Lucifer’s sake, stop leaving tissues everywhere. You’ll attract pests.” Leaving Angel with his supplies.