Vomiting Dan like sick as all hell and Lucifer is awesome
(sick!dan, douchifer, caretaker!lucifer, emeto H/C)
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âLucifer, could youâŠcould you go check on Dan? Heâs really not doing so hot, and I am not going into the menâs room.â Chloe shuddered visibly. âNot after last time.â
Lucifer put down the cup of pudding he was currently servicing (Danâs pudding, as a matter of fact) and looked up at her with amused scrutiny, spoon hovering. âDetective,â he crooned. âI never thought youâd be one to back down from a challenge.â
Chloe sighed, lowering her face into her palms and dragging her eyeballs down with aggravation. Classic mom move, easily doubling for her boyfriend too. âDan has been puking his guts out all morning, even though he says heâs fine, and I know Dan, heâs just gonna power throughââ she lifted her fingers into air quotes, ââuntil he passes out at his desk, or worse, at a crime scene.â
âI fail to see how this is my problem.â Lucifer resumed his attentions toward the pudding cup, licking his lips in a most lascivious manner, plastic spoon scraping plastic container. âMmhm. Extra protein.â
âLucifer,â Chloe hissed, reiterating her desperation with another face-scrub and eye-bag-drag. âPlease? Câmon, I did that thing for you last week, remember?â
He paused, last spoonful of white goop halfway to his mouth, and his brows raised in recognition. âAhâŠyes, quite right.â With a resigned sigh, Lucifer dropped the contents into the wastebasket by Chloeâs desk and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. âSuppose Iâll go see whatâs gotten into dear old Daniel, then.â
It was Chloeâs turn to sigh again, this time with relief. âThank you. And Lucifer?â
âYes, Detective?â He turned halfway to look back at her, already on his journey to the bathroom.
âBe nice, yeah? Danâs kind of a baby when heâs sick. Donât be too brutal with the insults?â
Lucifer grinned, white and toothy. âWouldnât dream of it, my dear. Iâll be the Florence Devil-gale of dear Doucheâs fantasies.â
Dan couldnât remember the last time heâd been this sick. Trixieâs birthday party two years ago, when he ate raw cake batter and got salmonella? Nope. Paolucciâs 2008 Super Bowl party, when he did like 47 shots of Jose Cuervo and fell off the kitchen table? Close. This? Was a new kind of awful hell.
With a thin, reedy gasp, he lifted his head from the ruined toilet bowl, chest heaving, crystalline strings of saliva and mucus dangling from his nose and mouth like spidersilk threads as he got his breath back in shuddering pants. Tears clumped together his lashes, blurring his vision and staining twin clean trails down his flushed cheeks. His face shone with sweat, dampening his collar and curling the fine hair at the base of his neck and temples. âOh God,â he grunted, grimacing through another squeezing stomach cramp, fingers curling around the seat in dreadful anticipation.
The door banged open, and he jerked reflexively, panting and blinking through moisture. âWha-â
âDan?â Shit, that was Lucifer, the hell was he â aw, câmon, Chlo, really? Sent the guy to check in? âDaniel, are you quite all right? The Detectiveâs sending for a priest, something about last rites?â
Dan was way too far gone to be insulted, settling instead for a grade-A moan of exhausted defeat, settling his head back down into his folded arms. âTell her to send an executioner too,â he rasped, and abruptly doubled over with a straining heave, face disappearing into the bowl. Distantly, over the horrible sounds of his own sickness, he heard Lucifer utter a small oh, my, and inexplicably felt the warmth of a large hand on his back, rubbing circles between his shoulderblades.
âThere, there, Daniel,â murmured Lucifer, quite taken aback indeed. Just what had gotten into this cretin, anyway?
Gasping for air after that last round, Dan emerged once more from within the confines of the bowl, face shining and eyes streaming, parted lips slick with bile, shaping oh, God, with a voice very small and stripped of any machismo or authority. He was sick as fuck, and kinda hoped Lucifer would actually just kill him, please and thanks. Guy had the money and skills to do it, he knew.
âNo need to bring Dad into it,â Lucifer muttered, although he kept up the soothing rhythm on Danâs back, knowing full well indeed how miserable he was feeling. Contrary to popular belief, Lucifer himself was still susceptible to certain human ailments, stomach upset unfortunately included. âCare for some water, Detective? Gargle and a rinse?â
âOh, God,â Dan gagged at the image, torso heaving, shoulders hunching but in vain, as his empty stomach convulsed uselessly, still trying to bring up something. This was the worst part, worse than blowing chunks out his nose, just the empty relentless helpless squeezing dry heaving. Ugh.
Lucifer huffed in dismay, sufficing for a quick eyeroll in place of a verbal lecture, and carefully reached up to support Danâs clammy forehead with his free hand. âItâs all right. Itâll pass.â
Hearing Lucifer continue to murmur comforting things in that melodic British baritone wasnât annoying Dan as much as it should have. In fact, in the midst of absolute physical misery, Dan was kinda grateful for the assholeâs presence, for Lucifer holding him steady through the gripping heaves and rubbing his back and murmuring kind things. Jesus Christ, this guy was a fucking enigma. But maybe he wasnât so bad after all.
Dan was crying, honest-to-God for shitâs sake fuckin crying, after that last bout, breath hitching on a quiet sob and everything. His whole face was wet and gross and his diaphragm felt squeezed in a vice, everything hurt and he just waned to collapse and sleep, to fall into a black void of unconsciousness and possibly never wake again. He wanted this to be over, he was done, he was empty, fuckin Christ-
âFirst Dad, and now my brother?â Lucifer tsked, but it was light and not without sympathy, and he took the liberty of reaching for the toilet paper so Dan could wipe his own face.
âLuâŠLuciferâŠâ Dan could barely see through the hazy film of tears and exhaustion, but he managed to accept the proffered wad of toilet paper with shaking fingers. Had he been saying all that out loud? Haphazardly, he blotted beneath his eyes and nose, then wiped his mouth. ââm so tiredâŠI canâtâŠâ
âYes, I know.â And it was completely sincere, soft but not mocking, serious Lucifer. âYouâre very ill, Daniel, and have been for some time now, if the consistency of your offerings were any indication.â
Dan could only blink through the fatigue and dizziness at that description. ââŠhuh?â
âYouâre sick, man. How longâve you been heaving up your guts?â
The way Lucifer said man with that U.K. inflection made Dan feel like a soldier on the battlefield, being roused to attention and spirited into strength. Heroically, he sniffed, stifling his shuddering with some effort and turning to look at Lucifer (whose brown eyes were very wide and warm with concern). âSinceâŠsince this morning.â His eyelids fluttered, and he raised a palm to his stomach. âI dunno, âs the flu I thinkâŠâ Eyes closing, he sighed miserably. âI canât keep anything down.â
âSo I see.â Without ceremony, Lucifer reached out to flush the toilet, keeping a stiff upper lip and avoiding any masochistic peeks into the bowl. âHas it occurred to you to seek medical attention, or had the thought not crossed your dangerously dehydrated brain?â
Okay, that sounded more like Lucifer. Still keeping his eyes closed, Dan leaned back against the tiled wall, legs slumping to the floor, head lolling against the cool tile. â âbe fine.â
âWhat was that? Am I hearing things, or did you just sayââ
âIâll be fine. JustâŠjusâ gotta sleep, is all.â
âAh, yes, Iâm not having a stroke, I did just hear you say youâre âfineâ.â Lucifer put the last word into air quotes. âYouâre delusional. That does it, up you get, Iâm delivering you to Chloe so she can drop you at the nearest E.R. like an unwanted newborn.â
Before Dan could protest, he felt large hands gripping him about the arms and hauling him to his feet with supernatural strength (holy crap, this guy was strong, no way he wasnât on âroids or something, didnât Chloe say he picked up a guy and threw him through a window that one time?).
âEasy, Dan,â instructed Lucifer, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around Danâs shoulders as he maneuvered him out of the stall. Upon standing, Dan was overcome with a wave of dizziness, and he heaved dryly over the toilet. Lucifer simply held him, keeping him from falling into the bowl.
âDear me, Detective,â he murmured in the ringing aftermath, and held Dan a little closer. âCome, now. Letâs get you cleaned up.â And then, a little softer, câmon, as together they left the handicapped stall and hobbled over to the sinks, Lucifer supporting Dan in ways neither of them had ever envisioned.
In another life, thought Dan â distantly, as he suffered through the agonizing bliss of Lucifer sponging off his face with a damp paper towel, fussing over him like a mother hen with Dan too tired and sick to give a single shit â Lucifer might have made a very different living as a candy-striper instead of a civilian consultant. He let that mental image carry him away on angel wings as the edges of his consciousness began to blur and fade into blackness.