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Chapter Text

It starts with the faintest twinge just behind his naval. That and Alastor finds he has no interest in eating breakfast. Odd, but nothing he can’t handle. He forces himself to eat regardless and smiles through Charlie’s standard morning greeting. Back on earth, he prided himself on smiling whatever he felt inside and here in Hell he can’t not. But he has noticed that dear Princess Morningstar defaults to a smile too. The difference is she seems to always actually mean it. Especially first thing in the morning. She just wakes up happy. It really is quite remarkable.

It is also very entertaining when Husk is around. Husk is decidedly not a morning person, so Alastor is treated to a regular breakfast entertainment of watching the cat supress his sour mood while the Princess of Hell dances about being happy to see everyone. Sometimes he orders Husk to match Charlie’s temperament, telling him, “Smile for the lady, Husker, there’s a good man” or something along those lines, and then sitting back while Charlie, flustered, babbles about how nice it is that he’s so polite but how it really isn’t healthy to repress emotions so he really shouldn’t tell Husk to smile if he doesn’t mean it, while Husk’s mouth grins and his eyes glare.

Vaggie is on to him, naturally. Often, Alastor doesn’t appreciate it when people see through his good manners to what Mimzy often describes as the heartless bastard he is underneath, but in Vaggie’s case, she can’t do anything about it because her girlfriend won’t let her, and she knows it. So her quiet rage is entertaining in its own right.

Then there are Angel and Niffty, of course. Angel is better behaved at breakfast than he is at other times of day. Perhaps even he understands that early morning innuendo is a step too far or perhaps he is routinely tired after the long, late hours Valentino makes him work. Either way, over breakfast is the time to have a sensible conversation with the spider and Alastor, to his surprise, has found that Angel can be pleasant to talk with.

And Niffty is always a little darling of course. Always pleased to see Alastor in a sweet hearted way that he wouldn’t admit he enjoys but does. She is an indulgence he allows himself, adorable yet delightfully violent under the façade of innocence.

Today, though, Alastor seems to be playing Husk’s role. He is oddly tired and really doesn’t mean his permanent smile, and Charlie really is so loud. The suspicious stare Vaggie subjects him to makes him feel under a spotlight, Niffty scrambles onto his shoulder in greeting, aggravating the twinge. Even Angel’s cheerful greeting feels like a demand on his focus when really he wants to focus on forcing the unwanted food down. Alastor excuses himself as soon as he politely can and goes up to his radio tower.

His broadcast goes smoothly because Alastor wouldn’t have it any other way. But while he hides it from his audience, the twinge at his navel grows into a persistent and inexplicable pain. It’s really quite remarkable how much worse it over a handful of hours. Alastor reaches for his midsection to try to ease the discomfort but stalls and pretends to be pressing a button when he sees one of Vox’s damned camera drones right outside the window. Wouldn’t do to show any weakness in front of Vox or, by extension, in front of all of Hell. Especially when he has done that already last month thanks to Adam. So Alastor gives the drone his most dazzling smile as he puts on a swing jazz track and magics the blinds down.

Once he’s safely hidden, he rubs at his middle but it doesn’t help. Alastor finds himself shifting about to get comfortable but the ache builds regardless. If anything, it seems to be worse when he moves.

When he concludes his broadcast, Alastor retreats to his room, travelling by shadow rather than on foot to avoid worsening the pain. Pathetic, but no one need know.

In fact, no one need know anything about this. Even without the knock to his reputation the fight with Adam inflicted, part of being an overlord is a prerequisite to never show weakness. And, really, part of being a respectable man is a prerequisite to never show weakness. It doesn’t do to make a spectacle of oneself or to put others to trouble. Especially ladies, and Alastor is well aware that if he were to give any indication that he is unwell, both Charlie and Niffty would worry themselves needlessly.

And be unbearably clingy, which Alastor really doesn’t want to deal with right now.

Not that he is unwell, necessarily. This could be something he ate. It could be he slept oddly though Alastor has to admit to himself he can’t imagine how one sleeps oddly on one’s own belly button.  Or one’s lower right side, since the pain seems to have decided to travel down there now.

Which is perhaps a sign that it is resolving itself. He just needs to pull himself together, focus on something else and wait for it to go away.

Unfortunately, the wretched pain protests at shadow magic as well as walking, and when he materialises in his quarters, Alastor doubles over as it intensifies.

He tries to breathe deeply. That makes it worse too.

At least no one is here to see his pathetic display. Even Vox’s ever present cameras can’t penetrate the bayou that encircles his private living space. Alastor takes another deep breath, ignoring the pain, and straightens up, ignoring more pain.

It’s a shame about Vox, really. The fellow overlord used to be quite good company before he got pissy.

Alastor ignores the pain some more as he heads for his desk. Charlie’s enthusiasm for most things, and especially all things related to the hotel, extends to generating more paperwork than the place needs, especially with just the one guest now since the snake made his worthless sacrifice. Alastor wasn’t planning on doing any of it today. Even the degradingly menial tasks that are part of his role here are better than paperwork.

But with this increasingly intense ache twisting inside him, sitting at a desk seems a lot more appealing than moving around to fix whatever is broken today. One would think that with the hotel rebuilt by Lucifer less would go wrong but only if one hadn’t met Lucifer.

Alastor goes over some accounts and some health and safety form-filling that no one in Hell but Charlie bothers with.

The pain grows. It really is getting very bothersome, like having a knife in wedged in his guts. Worse than that, and Alastor should know, he’s had that before. Alastor tries again to rub at his belly but again it doesn’t help. The movement makes it worse if anything and when he grips and releases the sore spot, he is left gasping.

And nauseous. As Alastor works, a sickly feeling makes itself know and builds, until he can’t ignore it anymore.

A part of him is relieved. Unpleasant as vomiting is, at least it should get whatever is causing this discomfort out of his system. Alastor gets up and goes into his bathroom, locking the door behind him and sitting down in front of the toilet.

He’d rather like to get this over with so of course his body takes its time, the nausea toying with him, making him feel like he’s on the verge of throwing up without anything actually happening.

At least it’s cool here on the bathroom floor. Alastor suddenly feels overheated.

Just as he’s thinking perhaps the nausea was a false alarm, it spikes viciously and he gets his head over the toilet just in time to retch so forcefully that vomit splashes back in his face. The pain stabs at him from the inside as he retches again, and then again.

Once he’s done, Alastor sits back slowly and wipes his face, then flushes the toilet. The ache churns inside him. It’s starting to feel like broken glass in his gut, grinding ever deeper into his innards. The nausea is still there as well, despite his stomach being empty now.

At this point, Alastor has to admit to himself that he isn’t feeling well. Even in addition to the pain and nausea, he just feels…off.

He is tempted to sleep right here on the bathroom floor. But that would be truly pathetic. He drags himself out the bathroom, telling himself he will return to his desk and work, but he soon succumbs to the temptation to lie down on the bed. He is a sinner after all. Succumbing to temptation is allowed. Alastor even slips his shoes off before sending a shadow to lock the door. No one can see him like this.

It isn’t just pride. There is that though, and why not? Alastor has successfully clawed his way to the top of the heap here in Hell and he didn’t do it to let anyone see him in this state. But there are also practical reasons to stay hidden while he’s like this. Vox is not above attacking the hotel if he senses an opportunity, and he isn’t the only one. The remaining overlords generally behave themselves. Not Valentino, of course, but Vox keeps such an effective reign on him he might has well own him. Zestial and Alastor have clashed before but the older overlord has enough sense of honour that he probably wouldn’t take advantage of sickness. No, the problem is the aspiring sinners who aren’t quite there yet, the ones who would love to bump off an established overlord and take over his contracts. Alastor is not aware of any of them actively watching the hotel since the snake moved in, but Vox ensures that everyone can watch everyone all the time if they wish. Perhaps he wants an afterlife where everyone is as voyeuristic as him.

With such uncomforting thoughts in mind, Alastor drifts into an uneasy sleep. It doesn’t last long before nausea wakes him. Or perhaps it is the constant, unignorable ache. Alastor sits up very carefully, not sure that the movement alone won’t make him vomit, whimper at the resulting spasm or both.

It is bad enough now that he wonders if this could be some sort of infection from Adam’s blade. He lifts his clothing to examine the wound but it looks fine. It is fading to a neat scar, and definitely not infected. Healing well, overall.

His reputation, on the other hand, will take longer to heal. All the more reason that no one can see him like this so Alastor decides to stick with the paperwork until the sickness resolves rather than be seen out and about at less than his best.

He spends a few moments waiting for the nausea, to subside and, when it doesn’t, slips off the bed anyway. Bending over to put his shoes back on is such an awful experience that at he decides the nap just wasn’t worth it. It is not as though he feels rested anyway.

There is a knock at the door. Alastor hurries back to his desk and sits down, then suppresses a flinch as the pain flares. Once he has composed himself, he calls out, “Enter!”

Someone tries to, but of course, he locked the door. Muffled from beyond it, Niffty calls back, “Mr Alastor?”

Alastor magics the door unlocked again. There is a little yelp as Niffty falls through it. Then she springs up again with a grin. “Hi, sir. Miss Charlie wants to know if you’ll be joining us for lunch?”

Just the thought of food makes the nausea grow. Alastor forces his grin wider and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I’m on a roll with this paperwork. I’ll make myself something later.”

Niffty’s smile has faded. “Alastor? Are you okay? You look icky.”

Alastor feels his own smile freeze. How can she tell? He thought he was hiding it better than that. He forces a laugh and says, “I’m fine, Niffty. Now, where’s your smile?”

Niffty grins again on cue. Alastor tells her, “That’s better. Now, run along.”

“Kay!” Niffty runs off again…leaving the door wide open as she is wont to do. Alastor magics it shut again, then winces as that seems to intensify the pain.

Rubbing at his abdomen still doesn’t help, but it does alert him to how bloated he suddenly is.

This is silly. Whatever this is will pass sooner or later. If it’s later, he can always take some painkillers from the ridiculously overstocked first aid supplies Charlie keeps down in the kitchen once everyone else has finished eating and won’t be around to see.

Alastor tries to refocus on the paperwork but his attention soon drifts to plans for his radio show. He’s had it in mind for a while to do an advertisement for the hotel. He could do it properly on a proper medium and it will put him in Charlie’s good graces for weeks.

He finds his hand straying to his abdomen again and pulls it back since touching hasn’t helped so far. He concentrates on his plans instead.

The only downside of promoting the hotel on his show is it would have implications for his reputation. First he is beaten by the first man, then he promotes redemption, what will people think? But he has a job to do at this establishment and he can do it better with the dear princess onside.

Perhaps he could mitigate the impact on his reputation by broadcasting some screams as well. Not at the same time, of course. Charlie is regrettably squeamish about things like that.

He hasn’t ended an afterlife on air since long before his…sabbatical. It would be wonderful to restart the tradition but after his last spree, Hell is running short of overlords.

Vox would make a delightful guest. But then there would be the other Vees to deal with. Alastor sighs (which makes the pain flare up) as he thinks back to that camera hovering about the radio tower earlier. Did it record anything compromising? Any wince, any uneasy flick of his ears? Had his smile shrunk for a moment? This is a reminder, Alastor decides, not to let his guard down ever, not even in his tower.

If he ever manages to have Vox guest star on his show, he won’t need to worry about the blasted cameras ever again.

There is a knock at the door and it opens to reveal the princess herself. Carrying a tray of food. Alastor forces himself to look relaxed and breathes carefully through a fresh wave of nausea.

“Hi, Alastor. Niffty said you were too busy to come down so I bought some lunch.”

“There was really no need, dear.” Alastor looks away as she puts the tray down on the corner of the desk, pretending to read over his notes when really he is certain he will vomit if he looks at the food.

Charlie tells him, “You know you don’t need to work through lunch, right? Work life balance is really important, Alastor, and we should all take regular breaks.”

Alastor risks a glance, his smile wide. “Thank you for your concern, Charlie. Now, I’m sure you’re busy too…”

Charlie stays where she is. Alastor suppresses a sigh. Which makes the pain worse. If it’s worse when he sighs and worse when he doesn’t sigh how can he win? “Was there something else, dear?” he asks sweetly.

“No, just…Alastor, are you okay? You’re looking really pale.”

“I’m quite alright. Just busy.” Alastor makes a show of taking up his pen. The movement makes the pain worse and he breathes deeply through it.

Which makes the pain worse.

Charlie says, “Okay. Good. Vaggie and I are going out now.” She smiles again despite herself. “We’re going on a date.”

Why does she feel the need to tell him this? Why can’t she just leave?

And haven’t she and Vaggie been together for years? Why do they need dates?

Charlie goes on, “But I’ll have my phone so if you need me to come back, just let me know, okay? I know you don’t have a phone but Angel’s downstairs, he could send me a message for you.”

Alastor plays his laugh track. “Why, with all this fuss anyone would think I was dying!”

Charlie shivers. “Please don’t joke about that.”

Ah yes, the snake. Alastor is aware that he isn’t exactly good at being sensitive when it comes to grief. Usually he doesn’t particularly care but in this case, he has to pretend to. “Sorry, dear. What I mean is, there’s no need to worry.” Please stop.

“He won’t mind” Charlie insists, “He’s only hanging around with Husk. He has a day off.”

“Ah, fun all round then.”

“Yeah, you’re kinda the only one working.”

In that case, thinks Alastor, perhaps he could be forgiven another nap. He smiles as easily as he can and says, “I’ll stop soon. Now, I’m sure you don’t want to keep Vaggie waiting. Give her my regards, won’t you.”

Charlie beams at him. “That’s so sweet, Al. Of course I will.” She leaves at last, a spring in her step. Alastor chuckles at the thought of how annoyed his regards will make Vaggie, then flinches as the chuckle riles up the pain.

Right. Enough of this. If Charlie is out, he doesn’t have to play the steadfast hotelier. He could play the Radio Demon reduced to a pathetic shell by a touch of stomach ache.

He moves slowly, cautiously across the room because it hurts to walk. It hurts to stand up straight. He slips his shoes off again and lies down on the bed, curled around his stomach.

He can’t sleep. It hurts too much. He considers summoning Niffty and sending her for pain relief. He could swear her to secrecy. But really, Alastor is starting to think the aspirin and paracetamol in Charlie’s first aid kit won’t help much in this case.

Perhaps Angel Dust has some opiates? Not that Alastor could ask, of course, especially with the spider working for Valentino. When he first moved in, Alastor sent his shadows out to linger at the overlord’s studio now and then (a deeply unpleasant experience) to ensure the spider wasn’t being used as a spy, but it seems Valentino isn’t bright enough to make use of such an obvious opportunity. But even so, it would be very sloppy to broadcast his weakness to anyone whose soul he doesn’t own, and especially to someone who soul is owned by someone else.

But he could send Niffty to steal some drugs. She cleans Angel’s room; she’s bound to know where his stash is. Alastor is just about to pull Niffty’s chain when there is a knock at the door.

Fuck. Alastor scrambles upright and muffles a yelp in his fist as the pain digs its claws in. He manages, “One moment please!”

So far today, traveling by magic has hurt more than walking but at least magic is quicker. Alastor steels himself, vanishes into his shadows and reappears at his desk with a gasp.

He should have walked. This is agony.

The knock sounds on the door again and Alastor can’t hide his annoyance as he calls out, “Come in!”

Husk enters cautiously and fixes Alastor with a critical stare. Alastor tries to look perfectly at ease. Husk greets him with, “Woah. Charlie and Niffty were right. You look like shit, boss.”

Inwardly Alastor berates himself: He should have composed himself better! Husk shouldn’t be able to tell that anything is wrong!

What if Vox can tell too, when he sees whatever footage his drone took? The last thing Alastor needs today is a fight.

Husk comes a little closer. “How long you felt sick?”

Alastor laughs, trying to sound carefree. His laugh track joins in. “Sick? Why Husker, you’re imaging things.”

“…Right.” Husk looks disbelieving and… worried? No, it must be disgust, surely. Or fear that Alastor will hurt him to keep him quiet. Good, let him fear that. If fear alone keeps him quiet, Alastor won’t need to use his rapidly decreasing energy to threaten him.

The longer this conversation drags on, the more Alastor is realising that even talking is aggravating the pain. He asks, “Did you want something, or are you just here out of morbid curiosity?”

Husk keeps on looking his strange mix of disgust and fear. He’s hiding it well, but Alastor thinks there must be glee somewhere in there too at the sight of Alastor suffering. He replies, “I came to tell you Mimzy’s here. I can send her away if you want.”

Alastor’s heart sinks. Trust Mimzy to show up today of all days. Alastor didn’t want to send her away last time they met – he had his reasons, none of which he wants to dwell on – and he has tried to call her a few times since but she has always pretended to be out. He has been hoping for a chance to make amends, but today? Today he wants to stay sat here not fighting whoever his friend has managed to anger this time.

Well, actually, what he really wants to do today is take the strongest pain relief he can find and curl up in bed, but that is apparently not on the cards. He makes himself say, “Tell her I’ll be down presently.”

“You sure?  Cause you don’t look well.”

“Husker, I advise you to keep thoughts like that to yourself.”

Husk holds up his hands. “Okay, just sayin’.”

“Well don’t. Go see to it that Mimzy has a drink.”

“Boss, you don’t have to clean up her mess every time, you know.”

The thing is, he does. The last time Alastor left Mimzy to clean up her own mess, she died. Alastor simply tilts his head expectantly, baring his sharp teeth until Husk mutters, “Fine, I’m going” and finally leaves.

Once he is sure Husk will be downstairs again, Alastor walks slowly and unsteadily to the elevators. He has never used them before. When he wants to walk he takes the stairs and when he doesn’t he uses his magic. But the pain seems determined to respond badly to both so elevators it is. It at least makes for a shorter walk.

By the time he reaches the ground floor, Alastor is leaning heavily on his recently mended staff. He’d never thought before how many little movements are involved in walking. Not just in the legs, there are muscles in the torso involved in the process and his arms inevitably move now and then too and it all sends additional spasms through his abdomen, adding sharp stabbing sensations to the constant, fierce ache.

Will it look pathetic if he sends Husk out when Mimzy’s enemies inevitably show up? Probably.

Not to mention Charlie’s inevitable distress if Husk gets hurt. Angel would be angry too. It could all be rather unpleasant.

Besides, for all Alastor likes to have the cat think otherwise, he generally prefers him in one piece. No, he will have to go out there himself. But first, he forces himself to straighten up and smile as widely as usual as he rounds the corner to the lobby.

Mimzy is sat at the bar, but she hops down when she sees him coming. Oh no, Alastor realises as she approaches, she’s going to hug him, isn’t she? He braces himself, determined not to flinch as the pain responds. He manages not to, but it’s a close thing. Mimzy pulls away, saying, “Alastor, sweetie, how’ve you been?” and then, before he can reply, “Listen I’ve been thinking, we ended on a bad note last time but I’m prepared to forgive you if you treat me to a drink or two.”

A part of Alastor notes that Mimzy isn’t offering any apology of her own, and that Husk, rolling his eyes at the bar, has noticed that too. But really, it’s a little late in their friendship to expect Mimzy to stop being Mimzy and Alastor does want to put their little disagreement behind him so he says, “But of course, dear! You know where the bar is.” He makes a sweeping gesture towards it, sending a sharp, biting sensation surging through his right side. At the bar, Husk growls softly, picking up a glass and polishing it so as not to look in a hurry to serve them. Angel Dust is there too, looking less than pleased at Mimzy’s presence.

Mimzy also looks less than pleased, eying the bar with disappointment. “Oh, see I was kinda hoping we could go out on the town. You know, like old times.”

“Another time” says Alastor sincerely, “Perhaps next week?”

Mimzy stares at him a moment, apparently trying to work out if he’s putting her off. He must pass because she shrugs. “Well, sure. Just rye for now then.”

“Indeed. Husker?”

Husk mutters something indiscernible and slides two glasses across the bar. Alastor sits cautiously, relief at not having to stand up straight overridden by the agony caused by getting onto the seat. He leans heavily on the bar, then hastily straightens when he sees Angel looking at him sceptically.

Surely Husk wouldn’t be so stupid as to tell Angel he’s sick?

No, it was probably Charlie. The princess has many qualities, some of them surprisingly charming and none of them quiet.

She’ll have told Vaggie as well. She tells her everything, apparently, which she seems to find romantic. Alastor can’t think of anything worse.

“So” says Mimzy, sitting down beside him, “What’s been happening in this ritzy place? You still playing nice for the princess? Congrats to you for stopping the exterminations by the way. I was rootin’ for ya.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Alastor raises his glass to her, then takes a sip, hoping the alcohol will soothe the ache without making him feel sicker than he already does.

“Oh” says Mimzy, “Did I tell ya about Mabel’s new fella? You remember Mabel, that hoofer I performed with a few times back in the day?” Mimzy adds, for Angel’s benefit, “She actually has hooves now too. Same face though, total flour lover, I mean she might as well paste it on with a spade, anyway…”

Alastor lets Mimzy’s gossip wash over him, giving the occasional nod to show he’s listening. Which he isn’t. But it keeps her happy. The alcohol does not seem to be helping the pain and is threatening to make a reappearance, so he pushes his glass away. Husk appears in front of him and takes it back, giving him that odd, disgusted-fearful look again. It really does look like worry. But it can’t possibly be: Even Husker wouldn’t be so sentimental as to worry about his soul’s owner.

“Alastor? Hey, Mr Creepy, I’m talking to ya!”

“Sorry, Mimzy.”

“You feelin’ okay, doll face? You’re looking kinda peaked.”

“Yeah” adds Angel, “You sure you shouldn’t be in bed, Smiles? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Alastor bites back a curse. Is there anyone in this hotel who isn’t determined to fuss over him?

Where’s Lucifer when you need him? At least he wouldn’t pretend to care.

Alastor tries to gather himself to reply, but Husk beats him to it, telling the others, “Okay, back off. Al’s a grown man, he don’t need us hassling him.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow in surprise. How uncharacteristically helpful of Husker! The cat must really be frightened that his overlord is about to lose his temper.

Really, Alastor doesn’t have the energy to lose his temper but Husk doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m just sayin” says Mimzy. But she has an adorable tendency to focus on herself and after a pensive moment she slaps Alastor’s arm and adds, “Oh, Alastor, and did I tell you about this new dress I found in that mall on the East Side?” She starts on a garbled description of the dress which Alastor tries and fails to form a mental image of. Angel, sat beside her, obviously wants to make further intrusive comments about Alastor’s state of health but Husk’s silence and Mimzy’s change of topic has effectively stalled him. Alastor sees him glance at Husk and Husk shake his head. Angel shrugs and sips his drink.

Husk puts a glass of water down in front of Alastor, who drinks some cautiously. It settles coldly in his stomach, the sensation worsening the pain. He quickly stops.

Why is Husker being so supportive in any case? What does he want?

“So what’d ya think?” finishes Mimzy.

About a dress he’s never seen? Or has she moved on from that? Alastor puts on a winning smile. “Wonderful, dear!”

This was apparently not the expected response. Mimzy gives him a confused look, then asks, “You hungover, sweetie? Don’t go telling me you went out without me.”

“Haha! No. No, I’m just…” Alastor trails off, hoping an excuse will come to him. The other three wait, Mimzy looking confused, Angel worried and Husk annoyingly amused. He must have used up his small quota of usefulness for the day.

“You’re just what?” prompts Mimzy.

Alastor tries again. “I’m just…”

Then a brick crashes through the window. It is almost a relief.

Chapter Text

“Mimzy!” yells someone outside, “Get out here you bitch!”

“Shit” mutters Mimzy. She jumps off her stool and scuttles behind the bar. Husker looks pissed off, which Alastor would usually find entertaining but right now, he is distracted by a sinking realisation that he is going to have to fight.

“More loan sharks?” Angel asks Mimzy.

“Ha! I wish!” She turns to Alastor and says, “That’ll be him.”

“Who?”

She tuts. “Who’d ya think? The guy I was literally just telling you about!”

Angel looks as puzzled as Alastor feels. “He wants to kill you because you stole a dress from his store?”

Mimzy fidgets nervously. “Well…I might have been in there to scope the place out for a bigger job a friend was planning…And, when we pulled it off, the store might have caught fire a bit. And burned down. And his girlfriend might have been our gal on the inside. But he shot her already so you’d think he’d have it out his system by now!”

Another brick crashes through the glass. Niffty runs into the lobby with a little shriek. “Not my windows again!” She scrambles on the floor for the shards of glass.

Husk sighs heavily. “Want me to get rid of them, boss?”

“Alastor can do it!” says Mimzy, “You think I get attacked half as much as I would if people didn’t know the Radio Demon’s got my back? Washed up kitty cat ain't gonna cut it.”

Husk glowers. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“Mimzy is right, Husker” says Alastor, noting the annoyance in Husk’s face, but unable to enjoy it because his side already hurts so much and he isn’t even moving yet. “I’ll handle this.”

“See?” Mimzy tells Husk.

Alastor fades into his shadows. It might hurt more than walking but he can’t seem to walk as briskly today as this situation calls for. He is fairly certain that his smile is a rictus grin of agony when he reappears outside, but the little group in front of him still startle back. Hoping that his presence alone will make them back off, Alastor readjusts his smile and asks, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

There is some nervous scuffling among the assailants at the back of the crowd but the demon at the front hides his fear well. He is an impressive, multicoloured patchwork of a man, his skin apparently made up of sections of different fabrics stitched together, appropriate for a clothes seller. He says, “We’re here for Mimzy. Send her out here and no one has to get hurt.”

“Ah, and since you’re the ones who’ll get hurt, you have a vested interest in that outcome of course.” Alastor leans on his staff in a way he hopes looks casual and mocking.

“Look, I got beef with the bitch! Just send her out!”

Alastor forces a shadow tentacle from his reluctant body and impales a doglike demon near the back. As the fabric demon’s cronies begin to scream and scatter he asks, “You were saying?”

The clothes demon snarls and punches him square in the stomach.

For a moment, the agony is bright white, overtaking Alastor’s vision. He takes a breath and then another, trying not to pass out from the sheer agony of it.

But then it quickly fades. To almost nothing. For a moment, Alastor wants to thank the demon. Which in a way he does, that way being that he takes on his larger form, pulls the man’s head off and eats it.

The pain is completely gone! Alastor laughs gleefully and throws himself into the fight.

By the time it’s over, there is no movement from the intruders except a residual twitching of one disembodied limb. Alastor pokes it curiously but decides he’s full. Noticing another drone in the sky he makes a point of taking a bow before he heads back inside.

Just inside the doorway, Mimzy is waiting with a little round of applause. “What a show, Alastor! You had me worried for a moment there when you doubled over like that!”

Which the drone will have seen too. Alastor feels his face scowl around his grinning mouth.

“You okay, freaky face?”

Alastor turns his attention to Angel Dust. “But of course, my good man!”

Niffty, busy sweeping the broken glass up, runs over. “You killed the bad boys, master!”

“I certainly did. Now, how about some more drinks? Husker?”

Husk looks suspicious but pours more whiskey. Angel looks out the window at the scattered corpses. “So, you, err…going to eat that or…?”

Husk nudges him gently. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Right, shutting up.” Angel laughs nervously. “I guess I’m getting too used to being around cannibals.”

“It don’t get easier” mutters Husk. He slides a drink to Alastor as he takes a seat, gives another to Angel and pours a half measure for Niffty.

Mimzy coughs pointedly. Husk growls but finally serves her. “Well” she says, raising it to Alastor, “He’s to reunions, I guess. I’m glad we made up, Alastor.”

“But of course we did, dear! We were never going to burn that bridge the way you burned that store!”

Mimzy chuckles and clinks their glasses together. Then she launches into the latest news from her club, mostly employee drama, which the place is never short of. Mimzy seems to hire people who are very much like her and then inevitably clashes with them, involves them in acts that would be considered criminal if there was a law down here, gets them temporarily killed or all of the above. Husk often reminds Alastor that the place wouldn’t have stay open long if Alastor didn’t let Mimzy use the building rent free and supplement the interchangeable drama magnets she hires with souls of his own. Sometimes, Alastor wonders if he should loan Husk to Mimzy just to see the look on the cat’s face, but then he remembers that Husk knows just how he likes his drinks and how the cat’s blunt honesty is an asset of sorts. Alastor doesn’t trust easily but he trusts Husk to tell him the truth about any weaknesses and recklessness he falls into. And besides, Alastor has grown used to having him around. No, it wouldn’t do to give Husk away, even to Mimzy.

Alastor shifts in his seat as discomfort stirs in his belly. Perhaps he was being overly optimistic thinking the pain had gone away entirely.

At the other end of the bar, Niffty slips off her stool and returns to sweeping.

Mimzy is on to their proposed night out now, planning her outfit, which will apparently include the new dress. Alastor discreetly puts a hand to his abdomen but it doesn’t help. The pain isn’t just back, it’s worse now. And the whiskey is starting to feel like a bad idea. With nothing else in his system to soak it up, it is making him lightheaded. Unless he is lightheaded anyway?

Perhaps Angel Dust was right and he should give in and go to bed. Hide away until the weakness has passed. He’ll do that as soon as Mimzy leaves.

Mimzy is discussing where they should go for drinks now, which leads her on to badmouthing every club they’ve ever frequented in the Pride Ring. Mimzy’s problem when it comes to going out is she finds fault with every establishment that isn’t her own but if they stick to her own, she gets drawn into the drama and he loses her for half the night. There is a lovely dance hall in Cannibal Town but she refuses to go there. Even she had to admit Husker’s casino was an enjoyable place but now the fool has gone and lost it. Now they are again on the lookout for a venue that suits both their tastes. Usually Alastor doesn’t mind since there are worse ways to spend eternity than trying endless slightly subpar nightclubs with Mimzy, but today her long stream of complaints are annoyingly hard to follow and are keeping him from just going to bed and waiting this sickness out.

And the pain isn’t just worse now. It’s spreading. As Alastor sits and listens to Mimzy, offering her the occasional nod or “Really?” or “I quite agree” it slowly fills his whole abdomen, seeping its way through him like an invading evil force with a lot of sharp teeth and a voracious appetite. Usually Alastor is an invading evil force with sharp teeth and a voracious appetite. It’s a lot less fun on the receiving end.

Niffty finishes her sweeping and leaves. Alastor wishes he’d asked her for painkillers earlier, but he can’t do it now in front of everyone.

Perhaps he could pretend he has work to do? But he doesn’t want to abandon Mimzy when they’ve just made up.

Besides, for all he wants to be in bed, Alastor isn’t looking forward to the moving he will need to do to get there.

Mimzy has finished complaining about places now and has moved on to complaining about people, and to gossip more generally. She has always been able to entertain him with her catty remarks, and with Husk around there should be a pun there somewhere but Alastor can’t find the energy to make it.

The whiskey really was a bad idea. His stomach is starting to churn as well as ache. Alastor pushes his half empty glass away.

Angel keeps glancing from him to Mimzy and back, and occasionally to Husk, who once or twice shrugs or sighs. Alastor is aware that he must look like a terrible friend, contributing so little to the conversation, and is grateful when Angel is drawn in despite himself, sharing a few make up tips with Mimzy when she gets on to that.

Alastor swallows uncomfortably and shifts again, trying and failing to get comfortable. Husk takes his glass away and replaces it with…an empty ice bucket? What does he need an empty ice bucket for? Then the nausea surges without warning and Alastor barely grabs the thing in time to violently empty his stomach into it. 

Both sinners beside him say, “Shit!”, Mimzy with some alarm, scrambling away, and Angel softly, sliding on to the seat Mimzy just vacated and stroking Alastor’s back. “Shit, Smiles. Let it all out, it’s okay.”

“What the fuck, Alastor?” says Mimzy. She comes round to his other side and rubs the part of his back Angel doesn’t already have his hands on. “Ya should have told me you’re sick, it could be contagious!”

She has a point there. Alastor feels a rare flicker of guilt that does not help the nausea in the slightest. He vomits again, the jolt of it causing a stabbing sensation so intense that he can’t hold back a groan before vomiting a third time.

“Just breath” says Angel, like Alastor didn’t already know to do that.

From behind the bar, Husk asks, “What’s that you were saying about being fine, boss?”

Alastor’s stomach finally settles down a fraction and he is left with a bucket full of vomit and his dignity in tatters.

Angel hands him a napkin. Alastor wipes his mouth, drops the napkin in the bucket and says, “Mimzy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do” says Husk, “You’ve been sick all day, you should have told this bitch to fuck off.”

“Hey!” Mimzy bristles. “Watch it, furball!” To Alastor she adds, “Hey, Al, don’t worry about it. Ya just caught me by surprise is all. Why didn’t ya tell me you were sick?”

Alastor sighs, pushing the bucket away. “It wasn’t important” he says. He brushes Angel off and stands with some difficulty. “I apologise once again, Mimzy. Please feel free to enjoy the hotel’s hospitality, but you must excuse me not staying any longer. I don’t think I’m fit to be seen right now.” With that, he vanishes into his shadows.

Reappearing in his room, he yelps as his stomach protests the magic, then wraps his arms around his middle.

What an absolute disaster. What is wrong with him? What sort of overlord does he think he is not being able to function through a little stomach ache?

Well, alright, a big stomach ache. But it’s just pain and he is supposed to be stronger than this.

Still, at least there is no point pretending any more. Now he can just sleep this off and hope the sinners down in the bar are wise enough to pretend it didn’t happen.

~~~

“Well” says Angel, once Alastor vanishes, “That happened.”

“It was always gonna” says Husk, “Stubborn bastard looked like he was about to hurl hours ago, I’m surprised he held out this long.” He glares at Mimzy, who raises her hands defensively and says, “Hey, how was I supposed to know!”

“You got eyes, don’t ya?”

“I said he looked bad! You told me to back off!”

“Cause you and Angel were crowding him!”

“Well” says Angel, “I was just worried…”

Husk waves a hand. “Not you so much. Mostly her.”

“Hey!” says Mimzy, “So you’re ganging up on me because I’m not in the redemption club?”

“No, I’m ganging up on you because you’re a selfish bitch!”

“Oh, fuck you, Husker!”

“You said he looked rough and you still sent him out to fight those goons!”

“I did not! He’s just a pal is all! Anyway, what do you care? He owns your soul don’t he? I bet you just love seeing him suffer.”
“Huh” says Angel, “I mean, I wouldn’t think less of ya Whiskas.”

Husk bristles. Literally, until he sets his fur right. “I’m not saying he’s not a sadistic bastard” he admits.

Angel gets a look of dawning realisation. “It’s just that you’re not” he says. He looks at Husk like he’s proud of him.

Husk blushes under his fur and tries to wave the compliment away. “No, I just don’t take any pleasure in watching someone suffer is all.”

“That’s literally what I just said, Husky.”

Husk sighs. His fur is on end again, he finds, and he has folded his arms without meaning to. Thing is, he hates worrying about Al. Fucking stupid to worry about someone who owns your soul and who doesn’t care about anyone except Mimzy for some fucking reason. Well, and Rosie. But Husk would bet anything no one else. Not to mention, the Radio Demon don’t exactly need anyone’s worry. And usually Husk doesn’t worry. When he does, it’s usually because Mimzy’s around to take advantage and for some reason, Al always lets her. Husk might not like the guy but that don’t mean he enjoys watching that shitshow. Besides, a functioning Alastor is better for everyone. The one useful thing the bastard does is guard this place. Husk swears under his breath as his gaze settles on the ice bucket. Then he yells, “Niffty! We got a mess for ya!”

Niffty comes running. Husk gestures to the ice bucket. “Chuck the whole thing away. I don’t want the bucket back.”

“Oh!” says Niffty as she hefts the thing, “Someone drank too much.”

“It was Smiles” Angel tells her, “But we think he’s just sick.”

Niffty nods. “I told him he looked icky but he didn’t listen. He’s such a bad boy.” She scuttles off with the ice bucket.

Angel says, “He is just sick right? I mean, it couldn’t be the angelic steel wound getting infected right?”

Husk shakes his head. “I reckon it would have happened sooner if it was that. Probably just stomach flu or something.” Which means they’ll probably all come down with it, he realises. Just fucking great. He wipes the bar down where Al was sat, in case that helps. 

“Someone should check on him” says Mimzy. She waits, obviously hoping someone else will volunteer.

Husk waits her out, raising an eyebrow. Angel retakes his seat and gets back to his own drink, obviously not wanting to check on a probably freaked out overlord no matter how sympathetic he is. Husk don’t blame him. Mimzy is probably the only person Alastor won’t kill on principle right now. Finally, she takes the hint. “Fine!” she says, “I’ll go!” She snatches her drink from the bar. “Will someone show me where his room is at least?”

Angel stands. “I can do that. I just won’t go inside. I kinda like having my head attached to my body, you know?”

Husk is soon left alone at the bar. He pours himself a drink. Mimzy can take it from here, he tells himself, and he won’t get involved. Sure, he doesn’t want Alastor to suffer unnecessarily. That don’t mean he wants to hold his hand when he’s feeling rough and mop his puke up. Let the people not on his leash worry about that. Husk drinks deeply and tries to stop himself thinking.

~~~

“Alastor? You gonna let me in?” says Mimzy, already walking in.

Alastor raises his head from the pillow and, seeing that it’s just her, lets it drop again. Then he remembers that he only got halfway through changing into his sleepwear and pulls the bed covers up, suppressing a wince at the movement. “You needn’t have come” he says in a tone that he hopes says I didn’t want you to come.

“Someone had to check on you, I drew the short straw, okay?”

“Well you’re going to have to leave because I’m in a state of undress.”

Mimzy pauses. “We talking naked or half naked?”

Alastor lets a burst of static slip. Mimzy folds her arms. “Well?”

“I’m shirtless” he admits. Really he was wishing that he’d forgone pants too. He still feels bloated and the waistband isn’t helping matters. But of course now Mimzy has walked in he is glad that at least his most personal parts are covered.

Mimzy shrugs, coming forward again. “Oh that’s nothing. I’ve seen worse at Bernice Leclair’s petting parties and they were pretty tame now I look back on ’em.”

Those damn parties. Alastor avoided them whenever he could and she knows it. And when he couldn’t politely do that he certainly never took his shirt off.

Mimzy comes over to the bed. She’s still carrying her whiskey in one hand but puts the other on his head. Alastor has to admit to himself that the contact feels nice.

“You’re kinda warm” Mimzy tells him.

Actually, Alastor thinks, he feels horribly overheated again. He is, however, fairly sure the fever feels a lot worse than it is.

“Hey, Alastor?”

“Yes, Mimzy?”

“Why’d you got a forest in your bedroom?”

“It’s a bayou.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Mimzy pauses, then adds, “You’ll probably start to feel better now you’ve puked.” She eyes him sceptically, apparently taking note of how he’s curled up, because she asks, “Your stomach hurting?”

Alastor sighs. It’s not like she doesn’t know he’s unwell. Besides, the pain is getting bad enough that there’s just no denying it. “A little” he admits.

“I’ll get you something for it” says Mimzy, and leaves again. She comes back with pills and a hot water bottle clutched in the hand not holding her drink. “Niffty had it all ready for ya” she tells him. “Angel’s back at the bar and Husk is drinking like he wants to forget the sight of you puking. Which don’t we all.”

Forget? Husker probably wishes he’d videotaped the thing. “They’ll be laughing about this for months.”

Mimzy shrugs. “Maybe. You should have fucked off and gone somewhere private.” She finishes her drink and puts the glass down on the bedside table.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone” Alastor defends.

“Yeah, cause puking in front of me is much better hosting.” Mimzy thrusts the hot water bottle at him. Alastor flinches back a little as the thing makes contact with his tender middle, but then wraps himself around it. It eases the turmoil in his body only the merest fraction but it is still something.

“Sit up” Mimzy tells him, “I got meds too. You know, I think I’d make a great nurse.”

“Of course you would, dear.” Alastor hesitates, but she doesn’t seem offended by his shirtless state so he lets the covers fall as he sits up very slowly.

“Oh, I’ll get you some water.” Mimzy takes her empty glass into the bathroom and fills it up. Alastor hopes she rinses it first. He’s certain the taste of whiskey will make him vomit again.

It doesn’t but it’s a close thing. And being sat up makes the pain worse. Twisting to hand the glass back to Mimzy makes the pain worse. Thanking her makes the pain worse. Lying back down makes the pain worse. Alastor closes his eyes, planning to sleep until whatever this is goes away.

Mimzy clambers on to the bed beside him. Which makes the pain worse.

“Ya know” says Mimzy, settling in, “This kinda reminds me of earth, you being all humanish and breakable all of a sudden.”

Usually Alastor is happy reminisce with Mimzy about their mortal lives but this really is just about the worst thing she could have said. “I am not human and breakable.”

Mimzy leans over and prods him in the stomach, causing Alastor to curl inwards with a string of curses. Then she sits back and asks, “Ya sure about that?”

Recovering enough to look at her, Alastor glares. Mimzy looks completely unbothered. Usually Alastor enjoys her lack of compassion but it’s less entertaining when he feels this awful.

A fresh wave of agony has him curling tighter around the hot water bottle. This is like being shot in the gut.

Mimzy pats his head half-heartedly and says, “Trapped wind, maybe?”

“Don’t be crude.”

“Hey, crude or not, sometimes ya just gotta let it out.”

“It’s not trapped wind!”

“Just a thought.”

“One I beg you to stop thinking!” Wonderful, Alastor thinks distantly, he’s reduced to begging. About wind. This is the sort of humiliating situation only Mimzy could bring on him.

“Okay, okay!” Mimzy holds her hands up defensively then lets them drop, jostling the bed. Alastor manages to stifle a groan.

Then Mimzy adds, “Do ya need the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Ya sure?”

“Mimzy, I am more than a century old. I know when I need the bathroom.”

“Hey, I’m only askin’.” Mimzy shifts again, causing the bed to jostle again, and there is a fresh stab of pain. For the first time in a century, Alastor wishes she’d go away.

Mimzy pats him again. “Something you ate?” she asks.

Alastor shudders, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “I don’t think so” he manages to say.

“Ya sure? Cause you eat some disgusting things, no offence.”

“I do not.”

“Alastor, I literally saw you eat a guy’s head today.”

Alastor shudders again as the nausea rolls through him. He wants to ask Mimzy to stop talking about food but that would just make him look even feebler than he already does.

Mimzy adds, “What else you eaten lately?”

Will she just let this drop already?

“Alastor?”

Apparently not. Alastor forces himself to reply, “Nothing else today.” Well, breakfast, but he threw that up so it doesn’t count.
“What so you ate nothing and then a guy’s head?”

More nausea, intense enough this time that Alastor forces himself to sit up, flinching.

“Alastor?”

Alastor tries to breathe deeply but it doesn’t help the nausea and makes the pain worse. He suppresses a gag, then stands. “Excuse me.” He heads for the bathroom on shaky legs.

Once inside he locks the door to keep Mimzy out and crouches in front of the toilet, curling around the pain again.

He’s already thrown up everything he had inside him in front of everyone at the bar but that doesn’t stop his stomach straining to expel any last drop. He heaves emptily until he finally brings up a dibble of spit and bile, and then he’s back to dry heaving again.

It hurts. Every movement hurts. Alastor clutches his stomach, then readjusts his grip hoping to find some way to hold himself that eases the pain at all. It doesn’t work.

There’s a knock on the door. “Alastor?”

“Go…urk!…go away, Mimzy!”

“Go away yourself!”

How does that even make sense? This is his bathroom! And he’s rather occupied right now.

Mimzy slaps the door once, hard, and for a moment Alastor hopes she will leave.

Not that he wants to offend her, of course, but it’s not as though he can’t make it up to her when he’s more himself.

He just hopes she doesn’t tell anyone about this in the meantime. But surely not? Mimzy is delightfully self serving, she knows she benefits from his fearsome reputation and she isn’t as stupid as she often pretends to be.

Alastor jolts forward as his body finds another trace of moisture to bring up in the form of more stinging bile.

Mimzy hammers some more. “Let me in already!”

Just when he thought she’d gone! Alastor flattens his ears to his head. Usually he doesn’t give in to such a base animal instinct – one that makes him look timid at that – but right now no one can see him and it’s what his body seems to want to do.

That and wring itself out. Alastor dry heaves again, barely suppressing a whimper as the pain intensifies.  

“Alastor, come on, kitten, I just need to check you’re okay.”

He’s not okay. He’s really not okay. “I’m fine.”

“Oh my ass are you fine!” Mimzy slaps the door again, causing it to shake in its frame. “Let me in or I go tell Husker and Angel about that time in Economy Hall!”

Alastor winces as he sits back. “You’re going to have to be more specific, dear!”

There is a muffled sound, like Mimzy is leaning on the door. “Does the name Catherine Rose mean anything to ya?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Alastor retches painfully again, still bringing up nothing. Then he draws a sharp breath inwards because flinching hurts. Then he closes his eyes because breathing hurts.

“Try me!” Mimzy is yelling, “And I got plenty of other dating stories where that came from!”

Actually, she has three other dating stories where that came from, but none of them cast him in a good light. Catherine is the only woman he actually ran away from, but all the sorry tales involve some level of ungentlemanly deception or unforgivable obliviousness on his part. One involves both. Two hint at unintentional disrespect to his poor mother, who set him up on those dates. None of them are occasions he wants broadcast at the bar. Let alone to Angel Dust who is already incorrigible on subjects that should be private.

“C’mon, Alastor! It ain't like you haven’t seen me puke before.”

She has a point. Between that, the threat, and the pain wearing him down, Alastor gives in. He reaches behind him and unlocks the door. Then he turns back to the toilet, his whole midsection protesting at the movement.

“Oh, sweetie.” Suddenly Mimzy is beside him. Despite himself, Alastor leans in to her side as she wraps an arm around him. “You’re really feeling bad, huh?”

“How could you tell” Alastor deadpans. Then he tilts forward with another empty gag that ends on a whimper.

Mimzy rubs his back and says, “Flush the toilet, Al, or you’re gonna set me off too.”

Then why did she ask to come in? This is typical of Mimzy. Back on earth if any of their mutual acquaintance was taken ill on a night out, she always inserted herself into the drama of it and then she always got nauseous herself. If Alastor had a dollar for every time he’s held her hair back after she held someone else’s hair back, he could buy everyone at the hotel a round of drinks.

She brushes his hair from his face now, very gently, while he gags again, then flushes the toilet, steeling himself against the pain that reverberates through his abdomen when he moves his arm.

“Ya know, doll face, you look kinda funny under your hair, what with havin’ no ears on the side of your head and all.”

Alastor dry heaves again because this will not let up, then sits back with a flinch and says, “Thank you, Mimzy, I love you too.”

“And your cute little dear ears are all flattened!” Mimzy adds.

Damn, he’d forgotten. Alastor corrects his ears. They are without doubt the worst part of his demon form. Well, them and the yellow teeth, a mockery of the perfect smile he prided himself on in life. And the humiliating tail but at least no one sees that. At least the hooves are properly demonic, for all that they require a startling amount of maintenance.

Mimzy, meanwhile, gets to look just the same as she did on earth apart from the black eyes and sharp teeth. That and she is slightly shorter and curvier, which Alastor hadn’t even noticed when they reunited. When she had to point it out, he’d explained that to him she was always just Mimzy shaped, and for some reason she had taken offence.

Now, Mimzy rubs his back and looks away with a little gag of her own while Alastor dry heaves yet again. She asks, “Ya actually gonna upchuck or are we just here for the view?”

“Feel free to leave, dear.”

“I’ll stay.” Mimzy strokes his back some more, which actually helps. It doesn’t make the constant, unspeakable pain go away, but it is a least distracting. Soothing, even. Alastor shifts a little closer, very carefully so as not to aggravate the turmoil in his abdomen any more than he has to.

It’s so bad now that it’s hard to tell if it hurts worse when he breathes out or in.

Mimzy asks, “How about some water? Might help you to just get it out your system.” Not waiting for an answer, she stands and returns with the used whiskey glass, still mostly full of water. There is, Alastor notices for the first time, a pink imprint of her lips on the rim. He reluctantly sits up straighter – sending a sensation like nails against his insides dragging through him – turns the glass to avoid the lipstick and cautiously drinks the water. Then he hands the empty glass back and turns back to the toilet, wrapping his arms around his middle again.

The pain has its grip on his whole abdomen now. At least it doesn’t seem to want to spread any further, but then, it couldn’t go anywhere else without being quite a different sort of pain.

Alastor would gladly swap it for a different sort of pain right now. The sharp cut of a blade wouldn’t be as bad as this. Dog bites weren’t as bad as this.

Mimzy sits back down beside him and strokes his back some more, but turns away with little noise of disgust as he gags and brings up the water in one horrible rush. Sitting back, he manages to say, “I’m sorry, Mimzy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mimzy pats him, still looking away. “Just flush the toilet, Al, or I’m leavin’.”

Alastor sighs. He didn’t ask her to come in! But he does as he’s told. His stomach feels a little more settled now so he stands, trying and failing to not make agony flare. He pauses and breathes through it, then goes to the sink to wash his face. Behind him, Mimzy asks, “Do ya feel better now?”

Alastor doesn’t want to disappoint her. He really is being a terrible host but he doesn’t think committing to a pretence he can’t keep up anymore would improve his performance. He admits, “I think I still need to sleep it off.”

Mimzy sighs the sigh of someone letting go of any hope that someone might take her out drinking tonight after all, but all she says is, “Well, I’ll sort ya bed out then.” She leaves, taking the glass with her.

Alastor isn’t sure what she means by sort his bed out, but by the time he peels himself away from the sink, she has spread a towel over his pillow, put a bucket by his bed and topped up the whiskey tasting water. When Alastor gets back in very slowly and carefully she snaps, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Al, talk about man flu! Has this thing turned you into a centenarian or something?”

“I am a centenarian, Mimzy.”

“Ya don’t usually move like it!”

He doesn’t usually have to deal with this crushing pain. Alastor ignores Mimzy and lies down cautiously. She sighs again, then tucks him in. “Thank you, dear.” He closes his eyes.

“Hey, what are friends for? I’ll come check on you later, okay, doll face? For now I got an appointment at the bar.”

Chapter Text

Husk is surprised how long it takes Mimzy to reappear. She stomps up to the bar with a heavy sigh and says, “I needa drink after that.”

Fucking great. Is she gonna use this whole drama as an excuse to get more free booze?

Stupid question, of course she is. Husk pours a glass of the cheapest whiskey he has.

“How’s Smiles?” asks Angel as Mimzy takes a seat.

“Oh he’ll be fine. It’s just stomach flu like Husk said.”

Husk puts her drink down in front of her hard enough to spill a little. “I haven’t actually examined him though” he points out. And thank fuck for that. But maybe someone should. “Does he need a doctor?” Getting Al to see a doctor would be a helluva feat. Hell, getting a doctor to see Al would be a feat considering how much the Radio Demon is feared. It takes a brave doctor to see any overlord, so much so that most have at least one medic on a leash who can’t say no. Husk is prepared to bet anything Alastor doesn’t. He’s more the pretend he’s invincible type.

So if Al needs a doctor, they’d have to get a free soul in and risk advertising the fact the hotel is down one defender. But if it’s needed, it’s needed. They’d just have to manage.

Mimzy grabs a napkin and wipes the base of her glass, scowling at him. “He said he just needs to sleep it off.”

Angel frowns. “He also said he was fine right up until he puked in front of us.” He turns to Husk. “Have you seen him like this before?”

“Nope. You saw how he was after Adam. Almost got sliced in half and you wouldn’t know if you hadn’t seen the bandages.”

“Well I didn’t see ’em, I just got the gossip from you, Husky.” He has a point, Husk thinks: Alastor didn’t let anyone near that wound ’cept for him and Niffty. More proof he don’t have a doctor on a chain. He says, “Maybe I should go check on him.” Alastor will have regained his compose enough by now he won’t attack. Probably.

“What” says Mimzy, “So you send me up and then you don’t believe me when I say he’s fine?”

“Yep.”

“It’s not like him letting something get to him like that” reasons Angel. He tells Mimzy, “Husk is right, he hid the wound Adam gave him real well and that was angelic steel. He’s gotta be hurting bad for it to show like this.”

Mimzy shrugs. “Well, stomach flu sucks.”

“I guess.” Angel picks up his drink again. Husk lets forces himself to relax a little. Maybe Mimzy is right.

No, that don’t sound right. “I’ll go see to the bastard.” At least it’ll shut up the reluctant concern that’s been growing all day. Better to just interact with Al than be thinking about him like this.

“Fine” mutters Mimzy, “Don’t believe me.”

“I won’t.” Husk goes upstairs and to Alastor’s room. He pauses outside. Maybe this is a bad idea. Alastor has already been way more vulnerable today than he likes being. If Husk bursts in, who knows what he’ll do.

Well, only one way to find out. Husk knocks and waits. Nothing. Is Al actually sleeping it off in there? After waiting awhile, Husk reluctantly opens the door and goes inside.

Yep, Alastor is fast asleep on the bed. Husk shakes off his surprise and heads over quietly.

Alastor still looks like shit. His smile has been a pained grimace all day and it looks like even in his sleep he’s hurting, especially with how he’s curled up in foetal position. Husk puts a hand to the overlord’s head. He’s definitely running a fever too.

There’s a plate of untouched food on the desk. That’ll be the lunch Charlie took up here. Husk frowns down at Alastor. How long has he been hiding this? The one good thing about the wound Adam gave him was it was urgent enough that he had to show Husk right away. This thing started out smaller.

Other than this thing and the angelic steel wound, Husk doesn’t have any experience of Alastor being less than fine on the surface. Physically, that is. Emotionally…well, when someone’s holding your chain, you learn to pick up tells.  Husk has seen Alastor stressed, embarrassed, angry, even scared. But when it comes to the physical stuff Husk has to give the bastard his due: He usually sticks to the invincible line pretty well. So for him to be in enough pain that it shows? There’s post Adam and there’s this. Which tells Husk everything he needs to know about this.

But there is nothing Husk can do here without waking him, which wouldn’t do either of them any good. And there’s nothing obviously urgent here: Sure, Al’s sick but he isn’t still puking, his temperature isn’t so high it’s dangerous and his breathing seems normal. Probably better to let him sleep. Maybe Mimzy is right (no, that still don’t sound right) and that is all he needs. If not, they’ll worry then. Husk takes the rejected lunch away with him when he leaves.

Back in the bar he asks Mimzy, “Did you take his temperature?”

“Who do I look like, Florance Nightingale?”

“So that’s a no.”

“I gave him medicine, okay! Can ya get off my case already?”

“What medicine?”

“I don’t know, Niffty gave it to me.”

Husk relaxes a little more. Niffty don’t look it, but she actually knows what she’s doing with this stuff.

Mimzy sips her drink in a huff and expects another one. Husk reluctantly obliges because he doesn’t want to know what Alastor would do if he didn’t.

Angel gets drawn into discussing make up with Mimzy again, and they move on to dancing and how it’s changed since they were both alive. He shoots Husk a few apologetic looks but Husk doesn’t actually mind. It’s nice to see Angel relaxed and, Husk figures, it saves from having to talk to Mimzy himself.

Charlie and Vaggie come home and Vaggie greets them with, “What the fuck? We leave you guys alone for a couple of hours and there’s corpses all over the yard?”

Behind her, Charlie says, “Oh, hi, Mimzy” and does a little wave. She’s smiling but it’s more nervous than welcoming in Husk’s opinion, and he could write a book about smiles that aren’t really smiles at his point.

Mimzy waves back. “Hi, your royal cuteness. Sorry about the mess.”

Vaggie glares. “So it was you?”

“Hey, Alastor’s the one who killed ’em!”

Husk swears, plucks up a glass and starts aggressively polishing it.

Charlie’s smile fades. “But you led them here, right? Mimzy, I know Alastor’s your friend, so you are always welcome here, but…Well couldn’t you have called ahead and…”

“Got him to do your dirty work somewhere else?” Vaggie finishes.

“Or find a peaceful solution” says Charlie quickly.

“I had to come here” says Mimzy, “Those guys were going to kill me, I didn’t know what else to do!”

Husk rolls his eyes. To give Mimzy credit, she can nail the helpless damsel act. God knows she’s had practice.

“Well in that case” says Charlie, with that nervous-welcoming smile again, “At least you’re okay.” She glances around, probably noting Al’s absence, and asks, “Is Alastor okay?”

Angel shakes his head. “He’s sick. You were right, toots.”

“Oh, poor Alastor! I knew something was wrong!”

Vaggie gestures out the door. “Looks like he was well enough to tear those guys apart.”

“Yeah” says Angel, “But then he hurled and went up to bed.”

Vaggie turns to Husk. “And no one else thought to clean the mess outside up?”

Husk puts the glass down. “Hey, don’t look at me, I done enough cleaning up corpses for that freak!”

Vaggie backs off at that, shooting him an apologetic look and muttering about what a bastard Alastor is in a way Husk can relate to. Charlie says, “We can clean them up quicker if we all pitch in. It could be a bonding exercise.”

Vaggie sighs. “I know you’re looking for a new bonding activity, sweetie, but this isn’t it.”

“You got that right” says Mimzy, “I don’t wanna get blood on my dress. Where’s the little bug?”

Husk swears but she has a point: Niffty won’t care about blood. “Niffty! Another mess for you!”

Niffty appears, springing up onto the bar. “Who puked this time?”

“No one, we got corpses outside.”

“Ooo! Will Mr Alastor want them?”

“I don’t think he’s up for a big meal right now.” Fuck my life, thinks Husk, and fuck Hell. None of this is normal and it shouldn’t feel like it is.

Niffty jumps down and heads for the door. “I’ll take them to Miss Rosie then.”

“Sure. Do that.” Husk pours himself another drink.

“I’ll go check on Alastor” says Charlie.

Husk glances up. “No need. I’ve been up.”

“And so have I” says Mimzy, “I do count, you know.”

Charlie smiles wider. “Of course you count. Hey, are you staying for dinner?”

Husk drinks before he can swear. Mimzy says, “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t” says Charlie warming up at the prospect of a guest, even one not here for redemption. It’s settled just like that. Just fucking great, thinks Husk. Like his day couldn’t get worse.

To be fair, Alastor’s having a worse day. At least he’s sleeping it off at last. Husk volunteers to make dinner, since Alastor won’t be doing it and it gets him away from Mimzy. Maybe he should have volunteered to take the corpses to Cannibal Town, that’d get him away from Mimzy too and it would take longer. But then Angel offers to help with the cooking and Husk thinks maybe his day ain't so bad after all.

~~~

“Alastor?” Charlie knocks on the door as she enters, carrying a green box under one arm. Alastor wonders if this new lack of ability to wait for permission to come into his room is a sign of his weakness. Is this how it starts, first people knock while they already enter, then they stop cowering when his antlers grow, then he has to deal with incursions on his territory and attacks on his favoured souls, and then he wakes up one day and he’s not an overlord anymore, just some worthless sinner?

Or possibly that’s the fever talking. It feels worse now.

And if that is how it ends, it won’t be Charlie doing it. She’ll just be smiling nervously and wringing her hands like she’s doing now. “How do you feel?” she asks, “You still look sick.”

“I’ll be fine with some more sleep” Alastor reassures her. He’s starting to doubt that’s true, but lying seems futile and telling the truth – that he’s never felt so ill in his life or after life – is out of the question.

Charlie sits down on his bed very carefully. It still aggravates his tender abdomen. Alastor shuts his eyes tightly. Charlie puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Could you manage some dinner?” she asks.

“No.” The refusal is out Alastor’s mouth before he can think of any way to phrase it that makes him look less pathetic.

“Are you sure? It might help to have something in your stomach.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“You poor thing. I’m so sorry you’re feeling bad.” She sounds like she actually means it. Not for the first time, Alastor wonders how she is like this despite growing up in Hell. Is it her angelic blood? No. Adam was proof enough against that idea. But maybe he and his exorcists were the freaks, the exception, and the other angels really are pure hearted and kind. Alastor likes the idea that, up in Heaven, his mama is surrounded by people like Charlie.

He'd best not think of mama right now. Even at the best of times, the thought of her brings a pang of sorrow. This is decidedly not the best of times.

Charlie moves her hand from his shoulder to his face. “You feel really warm.”

“I’m sure it will be better by morning.” If it isn’t, Alastor doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Charlie opens the green box. “I’m going to take your temperature just to make sure.” She pulls out a thermometer.

Alastor finds he doesn’t have the energy to protest. He lets her put the thing in his ear, closing his eyes again. He opens them when the thing beeps and Charlie pulls it out. She reads it, frowning. “This is a little higher than I’d like. Have you had some medicine?”

Alastor nods. “Mimzy gave me some.”

“Good.” Charlie picks up the glass by the bed and holds it out to him. “You should drink plenty of fluids as well.”

Reluctantly, Alastor sits up. He tries to hide the pain but Charlie still watches him worriedly. He drinks the water, doing his best to look relaxed and as if his insides aren’t full of lava, then hands the glass back. Charlie seems to notice the lipstick on the rim and says “I’ll bring you a fresh glass.” Then she frowns again, watching Alastor lie back down. “Are you in pain?”

“No” says Alastor but being unable to resist wrapping his arms around his stomach makes this a rather unconvincing lie. Charlie immediately asks, “Is it your stomach?”

“It’s just a mild ache.”

Charlie doesn’t look convinced by this either but she only says, “I really hope you feel better soon.” She stands up, adding, “Try and rest, okay?” Her smile turns a little nervous. “I could call a doctor if you like?”

Out of the question. “There’s no need.”

Charlie doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe not. But if your temperature goes up any more we’ll have to.”

All the more reason to sleep this thing off before it compromises him further. With that in mind, Alastor manages to fall asleep before she’s back with the clean glass.

~~~

“I’m really worried about him” says Charlie when she comes back down to the kitchen, “He doesn’t want to eat and he really doesn’t look well.”

Husk pauses over the last minute meal preparations because he didn’t like the look of Al either, and not in a not being able to stand the sight of the bastard way for once.

Not wanting to eat ain't like him.

“To be fair” says Angel, glancing up from laying out plates and cutlery, “No one would feel like eating after turning their stomach inside out like that.”

Mimzy, sat at the table and not helping with laying it, shudders and says, “Don’t remind me.”

“Give some more time” adds Angel, “I bet he’ll be hungry by morning.”

“Yeah” says Vaggie, “We’ll have to make sure he has a healthy breakfast instead of the crap he normally eats.”

“He won’t like that” says Niffty. She is just back from Cannibal Town and already cleaning up after Husk as he works. Ever since Al puked she’s been on a bit of a spree.

“He’ll have to cope” says Vaggie. She squeezes Charlie’s arm. “Don’t worry, hon, he’ll be fine.”

Charlie puts a glass on the sideboard, then fetches a fresh one. “I know. I just worry. And I do think he should see a doctor but he said no.”

“He would” says Husk.

Angel takes a seat, rolling his eyes. “Overlords” he mutters, “Paranoid assholes.”

“It’s not all paranoia” Husk tells him.

Vaggie says, “I guess that’s true if everyone really is out to get you.”

“But we’re not out to get Alastor!” says Charlie, “We’d protect him.”

“I’m not saying we wouldn’t” says Husk, “Just that if Al needs a doctor, we’d have to be careful how we go about it.” But that’s still an if. “Let’s see how he goes.”

Charlie fills the glass up, nodding. “I’m taking this up for him. And I really think someone should sleep in his room tonight in case he needs anything.”

“I can do that” says Mimzy.

Charlie beams at her. “You could? Mimzy, that would be so kind!”

Husk stares at Mimzy, trying to work out what she’s trying to get from this. A place in the princess’s good books? Or were the goons Al killed not the only people after her?

But as Charlie and Mimzy talk nursing tips, she does seem to actually want to see Alastor better. Which of course she does. Figures she wants her knight in bloodstained armour back on his feet. But Husk has to admit to himself it seems like more than that. Looks like Mimzy’s in the running for a not-as-big-an-asshole-as-you-could-have-been award.

And, more importantly, it looks like Mimzy and Charlie have this covered. Husk can put the bastard out his mind.

~~~

When Alastor wakes, the bayou is shrouded in twilight. He feels cooler. Cold, actually, but that’s better than too hot.

Nothing else has improved. The pain is still raw and relentless. Alastor twists miserably in his bed trying and failing to find a position that hurts less. Finally he goes back to curling around the hot water bottle like he was to begin with.

The door opens and Mimzy comes in. “Oh, hi, Alastor, sweetie. You okay with sharing?” Without waiting for an answer, she sits down on the bed, jostling his aching stomach horribly. She shakes out a nightgown. “What’d ya think?” she asks, holding it up. “Turns out, your little princess has a whole collection of spare nightwear, all different sizes in case someone comes to stay. It’s kinda sad.”

“Hm. Mimzy, dear, what do you mean sharing?”

“Ain't it obvious? I’m sleeping in here.”

Alastor feels a twinge of discomfort that has nothing to do with the pain. “In this bed?”

“What? We’ve shared a bed before!”

“A hundred years ago when we were both blind drunk!”

“So? You saying I’m not pretty enough to share with anymore?”

“I never shared a bed with you because you were pretty!”

“Oh charming!”

“No, I mean…Mimzy, of course you’re pretty, I just mean…” What does he mean? Mimzy has a point, they have shared a bed before. But his inhibitions were very much affected by the alcohol on those occasions. Sharing a bed sober feels uncomfortable in a way Alastor can’t quite pinpoint. Instead he asks, “What if you catch it?” It might put her off sharing and he really would feel bad if she caught this.

But Mimzy shakes her head. “Ya should have thought of that before you sat next to me for hours. I’ve probably already got it.” She slips off her pearls and puts them on the bedside table. “And if I do, I’m expecting you to take care of me, you realise.”

“Of course” says Alastor, giving up the fight for his bed and closing his eyes again.

If Mimzy catches this, he tells himself, he won’t leave her side.

“Keep your eyes closed” Mimzy tells him. Alastor obediently does until she says, “Done.”

The nightgown fits her quite well. Mimzy turns, peering down at it. “Not too bad” she concludes. Then she saunters round to his side of the bed. “Sit up, sugar, I need ta give you more drugs.”

Alastor considers refusing. He could even tell her he feels better without the pills: It would put her mind at ease as well as saving him the pain of movement.

But perhaps the pills will help. If there is even a faint chance to fix this pain, he’ll take it. He sits slowly and carefully while Mimzy extracts the pills from their various packets.

She isn’t content to just let him wash them down, she insists he drinks the whole glass of water on the grounds of “Charlie said you should drink lots.”

Alastor obeys, trying not to look alarmed at the thought of Mimzy and Charlie in cahoots. 

When he has drained the glass and she has refilled it, Mimzy heads back around to the other side of the bed, pulls the covers back and slips in. “We’re keepin’ the light on, okay, because your room’s fucking creepy.”

Alastor would prefer the lights out but, while he is not fully versed in the etiquette of bed sharing, he assumes the woman should be allowed the final say in these things. “Fair enough. Don’t go into the bayou, will you?”

“Why the fuck would I go in there?” Mimzy pauses. “You got gators in there?”

“Only a handful.”

Mimzy eyes the trees warily. It is better, Alastor decides, not to tell her about the wendigo.

“But they don’t come out, right?”

“Nothing in there can come out here” he reassures her, “Just don’t go in.”

“Ya don’t needa tell me.” Mimzy shoots the bayou a dirty look and settles down. “Night, Al.”

“Goodnight, Mimzy.” Alastor closes his eyes again. This is his first time sharing a bed with a woman sober. Sober and shirtless, in fact. He expects it to be awkward but finds he feels too ill to care. For a while, not wanting to disturb Mimzy, he resists the urge to shift around to find a position that hurts less, but it begins to hurt so much he can’t not. He finally turns on to his back, draws a sharp breath in at the agony of lying flat, rolls on to his side again and repositions his legs.

How can it hurt this much? It doesn’t make sense! He wants to claw his guts open and dig the pain out. Instead, he curls up tighter, then stretches out a little more, then back again.

“Fuck’s sake, Al! You gonna fall asleep or what?”

“I am trying. It just…” Alastor stops himself from complaining about the pain. He’s already a pathetic enough spectacle without whining about it.

But apparently he has already lost the little dignity he was holding on to because Mimzy asks, “Your stomach still hurtin’?”
Alastor sighs, then winces when sighing makes his midsection hurt more. “A bit.”

There is a lot of shuffling as Mimzy rolls over. The jostling makes the pain worse because everything makes the pain worse. Alastor is actually trying not to cry at this point.

Mimzy rubs his back gently, then pauses and says, “You realise you’re baking, right? Kick the covers off.”

The idea of moving enough to kick is laughable. And besides, the covers are the only thing keeping him warm. “It’s cold in here.”

“Alastor, I could fry an egg on ya. Loose the covers.” Mimzy sits up and whips them off him. Alastor growls. It comes out more defensive than threatening. Mimzy mutters, “Yeah, yeah” and lies back.

She still has her share of the covers of course. Alastor wants to point this out but it would probably be ungentlemanly and he doubts she’d relent. He tries to pull his side of the bedding back up across his bare chest but the pain surges so viciously at the movement that he quickly gives up. He curls tighter instead, arms around his stomach, knees against his arms.

Mimzy rubs his back again. “Just go to sleep, sweetie” she says, “Pretend this is the Francis Amis or something.” Then she adds, “Or not. If this was the Francis Amis, we’d be dancing and fuck knows you ain't up for that.” She shrugs, the movement traveling through the mattress and worsening the pain. “I just mean somewhere you feel at home.”

Actually, Alastor doesn’t not feel at home here in the hotel, an overly sentimental thought that he doesn’t share or dwell on. Instead, he tries to focus on the soothing sensation of Mimzy’s hand at his back.

“Could be worse” she offers after a moment. “I got shot in the stomach, remember? And then you got shot in the head. It’s funny, ain't it, both of us being shot?”

“Hilarious.”

“I mean, what were the chances?”

“Fairly high, considering our respective activities.” Alastor shifts again in hope of finding some undiscovered position that makes the pain go away, and stifles a groan when it swells instead. Mimzy pats his back lightly. After some indefinite, agonised time, he drifts into a restless sleep.

It doesn’t last long. When Alastor next opens his eyes, the pain is horrific. He curls himself tighter around the hot water bottle but it doesn’t help. He rolls onto his other side, facing Mimzy, unable to hold back a shameful whimper at the movement.

How can it be worse? It was already so bad. Alastor rolls onto his back, drawing his legs up because lying flat is not an option.

It doesn’t help.

Mimzy is snoring loudly. Alastor listens for a while, hoping it will distract him, but there is no escaping the pain now. He rolls back to his side, cringing at the movement but desperate to somehow make it hurts less.

It doesn’t help.

He needs Niffty. Or Husk. Husk, with his gruff but reassuringly predictable manner and soft fur would be a welcome sight right now. He is about to pull the cat’s chain when a crushing wave of nausea engulfs him and he scrambles out of bed, knees hitting the floor with an excruciating jolt that has him grip the mattress beside him so hard his claws pierce it. There is a scream, and for an awful moment he thinks he has somehow hurt Mimzy but then she sits bolt upright and says, “What the fuck?” and he realises he was the one who screamed.

How humiliating. But Alastor doesn’t have to dwell on it long before he is retching over the bucket, each lurch feeling like glass twisting his insides.

“Shit, sweetie, again?” Mimzy clambers out of bed and comes round to his side. She rubs his back. Alastor violently expels the little water left in his stomach and sits back with an involuntary moan.

“Alastor, you need to breathe.”

But breathing hurts. Each breath in aggravates the pain. So does each breath out. For a moment, he can’t make himself do it. Then his lungs insist on air, drawing in one breath, then out, then another as the pain stabs on the in and stabs on the out and doesn’t stop.

“Here” Mimzy hands him a facecloth. She must have gone into his bathroom and back and he didn’t even notice. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he just pull himself together? Alastor takes the cloth, noticing that his hand is shaking. As if this whole display isn’t pathetic enough.

“Alastor? Hey, kitten, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not.” But as he says it, Alastor realises there are tears on his cheeks. Just his eyes running from the exertion of vomiting, surely.

But deep down he knows it’s the pain as well. It’s unbearable.

Mimzy puts a hand to his face, checking his temperature. When she stands again, she is smiling in a carefully composed way he has only ever seen when she is about to get him into trouble. “Okay, Al, you’re not gonna like this, but I think I need ta go get Husk.”

Alastor nods. Husk will know what to do. But then he remembers Angel’s drug supply. Now that the spider knows about his shameful weakness, there is no need to steal. He could simply ask and trust that Angel doesn’t dare say no to an overlord who will be back to full strength eventually. “Mimzy, don’t get Husk. Ask Angel for some of his narcotics. Please?”

“You mean for the pain?” Mimzy looks concerned but adds, “Sure.” She takes a step to the door. “Wait, which room’s he in?”

Alastor gestures in the general direction of Angel’s room then hisses at the resulting spasm through his middle. “The pink one.”

“Come again?”

“It’s got pink hearts and photographs on the door. Down the corridor.”

“Okay, I’m on it.” Mimzy leaves. Alastor steels himself to stand.

And can’t. Fuck. No, this is ridiculous. He must be able to stand up unaided. He is supposed to be the fearsome Radio Demon!

But the pain is so relentlessly awful, and every attempt to move just makes it worse. Between that and how dizzy he suddenly feels, he just can’t get himself to his feet. Alastor gives up the attempt and resigns himself to waiting for Mimzy here on the floor, his arms around his stomach and raw agony gnawing at him under his skin.

Mimzy returns empty handed. “He didn’t have anything. He’s gone to get Husk though.”

Wonderful, Alastor thinks, now Angel is again unnecessarily involved in his humiliation. And he doesn’t even have drugs to contribute to the proceedings, which seems unlike him. “He’s lying. He must have some.”

Mimzy shrugs. “He said he didn’t. She inches closer to the bucket. “Al, could you go empty that? It’s real gross.”

He should be able to. It should be easy to stand up, pick up a bucket and walk the short distance to the bathroom. But he just can’t.

After a moment, Mimzy adds, “You gonna get off the floor at least?”

Alastor braces himself, tries again to stand, and sinks back to his knees gasping.

“Shoot” says Mimzy, “Never mind, don’t strain yourself.” She pats his shoulder while pushing the bucket gingerly away with her foot. “It’s just…Well. You can’t stay here all night.” She glances at the bed. “And I sure as Hell can’t lift you. You’re gonna have to snap out of it, Alastor.”

“I know” he mutters, “I just need a minute.” Distantly, Alastor is aware that his ears are once again flat against his head. He can’t find the energy to lift them. The pretence is over in any case. He can’t hide this. He can’t even move. His body seems to have turned against him, surrendering to a pain he should be able to shake off. Alastor wraps his arms tighter around his middle, unable to do any more than hope it will be over soon.

Chapter Text

Husk has to admit, it’s not like he’s never fantasised about Angel turning up at his bedroom door in the middle of the night in his pink fluffy dressing gown and nothing underneath. But in the fantasies, Angel never looked this worried. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Al. Mimzy just woke me asking for drugs for him.”

Husk frowns, reaching for his own, much less glamourous dressing gown. “You give her any?”

“I don’t have any.” Angel fidgets then and then adds, “Okay, I got some party pills but that won’t help with pain and I’m cutting way back on the harder stuff.”

“He’s still in pain?” Husk pulls on his dressing gown, realising as he does that he was wearing underpants and fuck all else when he opened the door.

“That’s what she said. It shouldn’t be so bad he suddenly wants downers, right?”

“Nah, that ain’t like him.” Husk is getting really worried now. Which is fucking stupid. He should wish pain on Alastor. That doesn’t mean he does though.

Angel adds, “And Mimzy seemed really worried.”

This worries Husk even more than Alastor asking for drugs: If he’s in enough of a state to get that bitch to notice something other than herself for a minute, it’s got to be bad. “Okay, let’s go see what’s going on.”

The next door over opens and Niffty is stood there in her little nightie. She rubs her eye, looks from Angel to Husk and asks, “Ooo, were you two boinking?”

Husk blushes, grateful the fur hides it. Angel says, “I wish” making Husk’s blush deepen and his mind reel. Angel adds, “But no, we’re just about to check on Alastor, he’s still sick.”

Niffty looks immediately worried. She hurries off down the corridor, leaving Husk and Angel to trail after her to Alastor’s room. His door is open and the light on. Inside, they find Alastor sat huddled by the bed, a bucket in front of him and Mimzy hovering nearby. She greets them with, “He won’t get up and empty the bucket and it’s stinking out the room.”

Alastor says, “I’ll do it in a minute, Mimzy. I just need a minute.”

Husk frowns: Whatever this is, it’s got Alastor sounding shaky and frail in a way angelic steel didn’t.

Niffty settles beside him and tries to pull one of his hands from around his middle. When Alastor doesn’t respond, she holds his elbow instead. Husk crouches beside them, telling Mimzy, “Go get some fresh air already. I’ll take care of him.”

To his surprise, Mimzy folds her arms. “I’m staying. You can’t get rid of me that easy, pussy cat.”

Husk turns his back on her and focuses on Alastor. “Boss?”

Alastor doesn’t just sound bad, he also looks worse than he did earlier too. And he’s warmer to the touch, when Husk feels his forehead, and the fact Al lets him do that is worrying all by itself. His ears are flat on his head and his whole body is tense and shivering. Husk asks him, “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew.”

“He screamed when he woke up” says Mimzy.

Alastor scowls at her but doesn’t deny it. Husk’s frown deepens. Nightmares maybe? A fever could do that. He nudges the bucket. “You done with this?”

Alastor nods. Husk moves to pick it up but Angel steps in, saying, “Here, I can do that.”

“Thanks.” Husk turns back to Alastor and asks, “Are you getting back into bed or what?”

Alastor shudders and glances over to the bathroom before replying, in a murmur, “Send Angel away.”

Husk sighs. It’s a fucking stupid order. Angel has already seen Al at his worst at this point and it’s not like he’ll judge. But it is an order. So when Angel reappears with the empty bucket, Husk asks, “Hey, could you go get Charlie?” while making a vague gesture towards Alastor that he hopes tells Angel, who knows all about how petty overlords can be, that Husk has to ask.

If he can tell it’s an order or not, Husk ain't sure, but Angel nods and goes. As soon as he’s gone, Alastor says “That’s not what I meant” with a little bite back in his voice. Makes sense, Husk figures: Alastor wants less of an audience, not more.

Mimzy of all people comes to the rescue, saying, “She should know, sweetie, in case we need ta get a doctor out to her hotel.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine.”

Husk almost laughs. “You call this fine?”

Niffty springs up and on to the bed, saying, “You need your hot water bottle, sir. It will help.” She hands the thing to Alastor, who takes it, pressing it to his middle. Then he says, “Ladies, I’m sorry to ask, but do you mind stepping outside? I want to talk to Husk alone.”

“Oh!” says Mimzy, “Boys only, huh? Is that what this is, you gone and picked up an STI, Al?”

Alastor seems to take a moment puzzle out the acronym. When he does, his ears and eyebrows raise in shock and he looks so flustered that Mimzy takes pity on him and adds, “I’m kidding! Come on, Niff.” She leaves and Niffty jumps off the bed and follows her out the room.

Husk don’t like this. He warns Alastor, “If you’re about to order me to not let anyone call a doctor, remember Charlie’s powerful enough to get you help whatever I do.”

“It’s not that. Though now you mention it…”

“What is it?” Husk asks before he can follow that thought.

Alastor winces and mutters something. Husk leans closer. “What was that?”

“I might…I might need some help getting back in bed.” Alastor seems to shrink in on himself, looking down at the floor.

Shit. He can’t stand by himself? But the last thing Alastor needs is attention drawn to how worrying that is, so Husk tries to sound very calm and unsurprised as he wraps an arm around the overlord and says, “Alright. Lean against me.” Alastor seems to brace himself. When Husk hauls him to his feet he drops the hot water bottle, gripping his stomach with one hand and putting the other to his mouth too late to muffle a deer distress noise, a sort of scream.

“Shit” Husk mutters, “Okay, just lie down.”

Even as he says it, Alastor folds himself ungracefully into a heap on the bed, one arm still round his middle and his hand still clamped over his mouth. Husk pulls the covers over him and gets the pillow properly under his head, before sitting down next to him. Reaching down, he picks up the hot water bottle and tucks that under the covers. Alastor finally takes his hand from his mouth and shifts a little, apparently pinning it against his torso again.

When he lies back, his breathing is fast and shallow. He's gone paler just in the time since Husk got here. Husk asks, “What number is it? Ona scale of one to ten I mean.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate, Husker.”

“I mean, if one’s basically nothing and ten’s the worst pain you’ve felt.”

“Oh, then ten” says Alastor. He sounds matter of fact but then he winces, pulling his legs up a little more.

Husk stares at him. “Are you shittin’ me?”

Alastor just hisses static at him.

“Wait” says Husk, “Worse than when Zestial nearly had your arm off?”

“He did not nearly have my arm off. I had the situation completely under control.”

“Boss, that’s…” Husk reminds himself to focus “That’s not the point. I mean, are you telling me the pain’s worse than that?”
“It’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Husk frowns at him, curled up on the bed. “Worse than Adam?”

More static spills from a nearby radio but Alastor only says, “Worse than that.”

Shit. “Worse than how you died?” Husk makes himself say. Alastor has never shared the story but Husk is pretty sure it somehow involved both guns and dogs, based on Alastor’s strong dislike of both.

“Husker, you said ten is the worst pain I’ve felt, did you not?”

“For real, Al? How you’re feeling right now, this is the worst pain you’ve felt?”

Alastor nods once, then grimaces. Husk stands up. “Okay” he says, “Then I’m calling a fucking ambulance.”

He gets two steps to the door when the chain appears. Husk is yanked off his feet, slamming hard against the ground as the walls erupt in shadowy tentacles. He braces for whatever the fuck Alastor is about to do and then it doesn’t happen. The tentacles are gone and the chain is back to its usual invisible state. For a moment Husk thinks this is just Al deciding that was enough of a showy threat. Alastor is good at showy threats. But then he looks to the bed and sees that Alastor is curled even tighter and… “Shit” says Husk, getting up and going to sit beside him, patting his back while the overlord sobs. “Okay, no need for that. You’re okay. So am I no fucking thanks to you.”

Great, now he’s comforting the bastard. Deep down, Husk knows he’s too soft for his own good and, well, here’s exhibit A he figures.

But Alastor even needing comfort? Something is seriously wrong here. Normal rules don’t apply.

Alastor wipes his eyes aggressively. “It hurts” he whispers.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“Tell no one about this.”

“You know I won’t.” Husk frowns and adds, “About the crying, I mean. The pain we’re gonna have to tell someone about.”

Alastor shakes his head. “I can’t go to hospital.”

“Boss, you’re gonna have to, the state you’re in.”

“Vox is watching. His drones have been around all day. If he sees me being carted off, he’ll attack this place.”

Husk sighs. Why does Alastor even care? He probably doesn’t want to know.

The thing is, he isn’t wrong. Husk isn’t sure Vox is stupid to attack the place where Lucifer’s beloved daughter lives but there are plenty of sinners who are. Plenty of people in Hell didn’t get here by making sensible, measured choices. And plenty of people have a grudge against Alastor. Hell, plenty of people have a grudge against Husk. Not to mention Mimzy can provoke anyone into attempted murder. And it’s not like Angel’s never pissed anyone off in his time. He has some nasty fans out there too, creeps who’d love take advantage of him being without overlord protection.

Hell, Valentino has enemies too, and some of them might try to get to him through Angel.

All it takes is one sinner with a reason and enough stupidity to try their luck. Hell’s crawling with them. Vox wouldn’t need to attack, when he could just report Alastor’s absence on TV.

Just the idea of Angel getting hurt makes Husk’s fur stand on end. The idea of Alastor getting hurt doesn’t provoke the same reaction but that don’t mean he’s rooting for it, especially not when Alastor is like this, not able to fight back. And if the many faceless enemies out there don’t attack the hotel, they’ll attack Alastor in hospital. A weakened overlord in a public place? They might as well put him on a plate. “Well” says Husk, “We’ll just have to manage. We’ll get the ambulance to pull up right by the doors so the drones can’t get a shot of who’s leaving.”

Alastor shakes his head again. “Vox will find out. He’ll make it his business to find out.” He breaks off with a gasp, clutching at his stomach.

Husk sighs. “Well have you got a better idea? Cause you look like you’re about to double die on us.” In case Alastor gets any stupid ideas about that being preferable to just seeing a damn doctor, Husk adds, “And then it’ll take you months to reform, years even! And if half of what I hear is true, well…You think you’re in pain now, try bein’ double dead.”

Alastor shudders, turning paler still. Husk feels kinda bad for saying it but it’s true.

There’s a knock at the door and Charlie’s voice: “Alastor? Husk? Can we come in?”

Husk calls back, “Yeah, get in here” before Alastor can reply. Alastor glares but tries to fix his smile as Charlie comes in, apparently trying and failing to make it less of a grimace.

Charlie comes over to the bed and Angel, Mimzy and Niffty all trail after her. Vaggie is here too, blinking sleepily.

Husk gets up so Charlie can sit down next to Alastor. She squeezes his shoulder and says, “Oh, Alastor, I’m so sorry. We should have realised it was serious sooner.”

Alastor twists against the mattress to look at her. “In fairness, dear” he says, “I might have downplayed my symptoms slightly.”

“Ya don’t say” Angel deadpans.

Vaggie sighs. “And is it maybe dawning on you now why that’s a fucking stupid idea?”

“Vaggie!” Charlie chides, “Can we leave it? He’s really sick.”

Niffty nods. “Please don’t tell him off. Bad boys can be really stubborn sometimes.”

“Fine.” Vaggie lifts the phone Husk realises has been in her hand this whole time. “I’ll put the lecture I am absolutely going to give on ice and call an ambulance.”

The tentacles appear again. They fade even quicker this time and Charlie says, “Alastor!” sounding equal parts shocked he tried to use them on her girlfriend and worried at how rapidly they retracted, leaving the overlord whimpering and struggling to breathe.

“Boss, you got to stop doing that.”

“What the fuck cabrón?”

It takes Alastor a while to catch his breath. When he does, he lies trembling with his eyes shut. Charlie looks at Vaggie. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, no thanks to shitass here.”

Charlie turns back to Alastor, stroking his back. She asks, “Will you let us phone a doctor at least?”

“You need it, Smiles” says Angel, “A doctor will have the good drugs, ya know?”

Husk quickly adds, “And a doctor can come to the door in plain clothes, Al. Vox will just see a person going inside a hotel, nothing strange about that.” Well, maybe strange for this hotel, but they don’t need to dwell on that.

Charlie asks, “Is that the problem? You’re worried about other overlords attacking?”

Alastor just nods and gestures to Husk to elaborate, wincing in pain at the movement.

“Them and anyone with a grudge” Husk explains, “It ain't a completely out there idea.” He doesn’t add that Alastor is probably also freaked out about the idea of being touched, let alone being at a doctor’s mercy. Al will just have to get the fuck over that if he wants to live.

Vaggie steps forward. “Well, we’ll handle it” she tells Alastor, “You think you’re the only one here who can fight, pendejo?” She glares at him a moment before sighing. “Not that you’d be much use in a fight right now.” She hands the phone to Charlie. “Make the call, hon.”

Charlie stands, accepting the phone. Alastor reaches for her, then winces and curls in on himself again. He says, “Just a doctor. No ambulance. And make them come without the white coat or Vox will find out.”

Mimzy folds her arms. “Let him. Once you’re back on your feet you can deal with that box head.”

“And what about before that?” Alastor snaps.

Angel asks, “What’s the alternative, here? Die?”

It doesn’t escape Husk how the question makes Alastor flinch. He says, “Just a doctor to begin with. We’ll see what they say and take it from there.”

Alastor shakes his head, his body tense with pain. “Just a doctor.”

Husk says nothing. If the doctor says Alastor needs an ambulance, they’ll have that battle then. Right now they just need someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing to look at him.

Charlie must be thinking the same because she’s scrolling through the phone, presumably looking for a doctor’s number. She says, “I’m going to need to tell the doctor about your symptoms, Alastor, so you’re going to have to be honest about them now. How bad is the pain?”

Alastor looks about ready to pass out at this point, so Husk answers for him. “Tell them it’s a ten. It’s bad.”

Charlie bites her lip, scrolling some more. “Is it all over?” she asks.

“Boss?”

“It is now” Alastor admits.

“Wait” says Angel, “Where was it before?”

Charlie lowers the phone. “What do you mean?”

Angel gestures to the bed. “He said the pain’s all over now. Where was it before, Smiles?”

More static, this time somehow conveying annoyance. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“Boss, just answer the question.”

Alastor sighs and tells Husk instead of Angel. “It was behind my navel. Then it was on my right side. Why does it matter?”

From the look on Angel’s face, it matters a lot. “Shit” he says.

Husk frowns. “Angel?”

“Like, the lower right hand side?” Angel asks Alastor.

“Oh no” murmurs Niffty, like she’s catching on to something Husk don’t get. Charlie doesn’t get it either: She’s looking in confusion from Angel to Alastor.

Alastor has closed his eyes again now, but he mutters, “Yes. What of it?”

“Shit, Alastor” Angel says again. To Charlie he says, “Forget a doctor, we need an ambulance right now. Tell ’em we’ve got an appendix about to burst.”

There is a brief, horrified silence. Husk finally catches on to what’s happening. Appendicitis? Yeah, that’d explain it.

Mimzy says, “What the fuck, Alastor? Why didn’t you tell me it was your appendix?”

“Among other things, dear, because I have no idea what that is.”

Charlie says, “Me neither but I’m taking Angel’s word for this.” She has already dialled the first two 6s of Hell’s emergency number when the tentacles reappear, then disappear as Alastor howls in pain. Charlie drops the phone. “Alastor? Shit, Alastor?”

Husk sits down next to the overlord. “Boss?”

Alastor is curled round his middle, his breath coming in gasps. He grabs Husk’s arm and clings. “Husker, I want this to stop.”

“It will stop, Al” Husk reassures him while Charlie scoops up her phone. “Just as soon as the doctors do their thing.”

“I can’t go to hospital.”

Husk tries to work out if this is Alastor worried about the hotel, worried about his own safety, worried about his pride or if Alastor even knows himself at this point. Before he can reply, Angel says, “You’re gonna have to go to the hospital, Al. You need an operation.”

Niffty adds, “Please, Alastor.”

Charlie and Vaggie, Husk realises, have slipped out the room.

~~~

Charlie and Vaggie have slipped out the room, and Alastor has a horrible feeling they are calling for an ambulance on that wretched transportable telephone of Charlie’s. They’re not listening to him. The pain is appalling but Alastor knows he can’t go to a hospital. He can’t damage his reputation further and expect no one to challenge him. If they’re smart, they won’t wait until he’s out of hospital to do it.

That or they’ll attack the hotel while he’s gone. His mistress won’t like that.

She won’t like it if he dies either. He is a valuable tool. Alastor shudders and grips Husk’s fur harder. Soft hearted Husker responds by rubbing his back. It can’t touch the pain but it still helps somehow. It is something to feel besides the pain.

The pain has him so firmly in its grasp he might as well be impaled. Impaled through the middle, that sounds right, the pain radiating from the wound more fiercely than it ever did from Adam’s blade.

“It’s alright, boss. There’s help on the way, okay?”

But he can’t accept that help. He can’t have an operation! He can’t defend himself unconscious.

Or conscious, right now.

He can’t think right now.

His mistress will be so angry if he dies. It won’t break the chain. It will just delay all her plans.

Then a solution comes to him from the mists of the agony filling his mind. “I don’t need an ambulance. They can operate here.”

Husk laughs without any humour. Mimzy says, “For fuck’s sake, Alastor.”

“It’s too icky in here” says Niffty.

“Yeah, Smiles, it’s been like a hundred years since they stopped operating on people on their dining tables.”

So what, thinks Alastor, if at home operations have fallen out of fashion? That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work. His mama had her tonsils removed on their kitchen table and she was fine.

He turns to Husk to order him to insist that any treatment he receives, he receives at the hotel. Just the movement of looking sideways sends bolts of searing pain up and down his abdomen.

And then it’s worse. Suddenly Alastor can’t focus on the need for discretion or on anything else besides than the pain. It is suddenly too big to push aside and talk through.

“Boss, you gotta breathe.”

But breathing hurts. Alastor forces the air out of his lungs and pulls more in, the pain grating and sliding like his guts are stuffed with blades and smashed glass.

Mimzy comes closer. “Let me” she tells Husk. Husk doesn’t move. Alastor is distantly aware that he is digging his claws quite hard into the cat’s fur but what keeps Husk in place more than that seems to be his dislike of Mimzy.

Mimzy rolls her eyes and turns to Alastor. “Move ya head, kitten.” When Alastor can’t, she unceremoniously lifts his head, pulls the pillow out from under him and sits down in its place, drawing his head into her lap. The movement is searing agony that has him whimpering shamefully. Husk growls, “Mimzy” in a warning tone, but Mimzy ignores him. She puts her hands on Alastor’s head, one trailing repeatedly through his hair, the other stroking his ears.

It helps. It doesn’t stop the pain but it reaches something deep inside him, possibly some pathetic deer instinct or maybe something else. Alastor finds himself melting into the touch.  

There is a brief commotion outside, clatter, unfamiliar voices and Angel looks round. “What the Hell? Oh hiya Luci.”

Lucifer has walked in. Yes, thinks Alastor, this is defiantly Hell. Just as he found some modicum of comfort, in walks Lucifer to witness how pitiable he is being, his head in Mimzy’s lap, one hand still buried in Husk’s fur. The king of Hell stops short (obviously, he could hardly stop tall) and stares. Alastor attempts a glare and is about to let go off Husk when he thinks, no, let Lucifer stare. It hurts. Husk helps. He closes his eyes and endures the humiliation.

~~~

Lucifer walks in just as Alastor is really looking out of it. He stares down at him and, as Charlie comes in, says, “Okay, I see what you mean, sweetheart. He doesn’t look good.”

Husk is pretty sure Alastor mutters, “Neither do you” but when he looks, the overlord has his eyes closed and is lying very still. Husk can tell he’s still awake though because he’s gripping his fur like it’s a lifeline. Hard enough to hurt, actually, but Husk figures if it helps he might as well let him. Fuck knows Alastor is in more pain. Husk can see it just in the way Alastor is holding himself, plus how drawn his expression is around the now small smile. Not to mention the grip on his arm. This isn’t Alastor ruffling his fur to mess with him, this is Alastor in real pain.

Husk has seen people in this sort of pain before. It didn’t end well for any of them.

Charlie says, “Dad bought a doctor here by portal. Vaggie’s just briefing her on the whole…” she trails off and Lucifer finishes for her: “The whole possibly being attacked by an overlord situation. Only fair to warn her, you know?” He laughs nervously, then stares at Alastor again, possibly thinking the same as Husk: That Alastor doesn’t look up to attacking anyone right now.

Angel must be thinking the same because he says, “Probably better to just get her in here.”

“We need to let her know not to tell anyone too” says Charlie, “And to persuade her to let dad open up a portal straight to an operating theatre so Vox’s drones don’t spy through a hospital window and see Alastor being wheeled about. She says she’d prefer for it open in a ward but that post op care can all be done here if we get it clean enough.”

“On it” says Niffty. She scurries off, presumably to fetch supplies. Husk asks Lucifer, “Can’t you just open up a portal without asking?”

Lucifer gives that nervous laugh again. “I can but I don’t like to. Already scared some folks just portaling into the waiting room.”

The more Husk gets to know Lucifer the less he can picture the guy tempting and scheming and bringing about the fall of man. Something is seriously fucked about that whole thing. No point getting into that though, so he just leans closer to Alastor and says, “Hear that boss? You’ll be in here and then straight to surgery. No one’ll see.” Well, he thinks, a bunch of medical staff will see. But they’ll be working on the guy so even if any of them let anything slip later, Alastor will be back on his feet by then. Hopefully.

Alastor doesn’t answer. He just lies there.

The door opens and Vaggie comes in with the doctor, a goat based demon with curled horns and floppy ears. Back in Husk’s casino when they were equals, Husk and Alastor used to entertain themselves speculating on what passing sinners did to deserve their demon forms, all without ever going into their own cases. Now Husk thinks of goat connotations and figures this doctor is probably stubborn and pretty tough. Good, she’s gonna need it.

She wastes no time, bustling over to Alastor, pulling on a pair of medical gloves with a menacing air and announcing, “This’ll get pretty personal so everyone who doesn’t need to be here should leave now.”

“I’m staying” says Mimzy. Because of fucking course she does, it keeps her in the centre of the drama. But Husk has to admit, the massage she’s giving Alastor’s ears seems to be soothing him a bit.

“Of course” says Charlie, heading for the door. Everyone follows and Husk moves to leave, but Alastor’s death grip on his arm stops him. “Looks like I’m staying too.”

Once everyone else is out, the doctor prods Husk’s other arm and says, “Step away from the bed, I need to examine his abdomen.”

Husk stands, but can’t move far with Alastor clinging to him. He steps in front of Mimzy and Alastor’s arm swings upward, still clutching at him. Alastor flinches. Husk tells him, “You could let me go” but he doubts Alastor can hear him at this point.

The doctor pulls the hot water bottle from Alastor’s grip, causing a burst of protesting static from a radio across the room, then chucks it aside. “I need you on your back” she tells Alastor.

Alastor seems to visibly wilt at the thought. When he doesn’t move, the doctor takes him by the hip and shoulder and sort of flips him, provoking a scream. He still doesn’t let go of Husk, who holds his arm out to accommodate the change of position. Alastor’s knees draw tightly up. Next the doctor tugs on the arm Alastor still has wrapped around his waist. Alastor tightens his grip glares. “Touch me again and you’ll lose a hand.”

The doctor’s eyes widen a little but she puts her hands on her hips as if about to talk back. Before she can, Mimzy flicks one of Alastor’s ears and says, “Alastor, is that any way to talk to a lady?”

More static, and then Alastor mutters, “My apologies, madam.”

The doctor turns to his torso again, using both hands to prise his arm up. Alastor’s breath hisses inwards and he finally lets go of Husk to clamp his other arm round himself instead. The doctor rolls her eyes and tells Husk, “Hold him still.”

“Husker, don’t you dare!”

Husk shrugs helplessly at the doctor. “Sorry. He’s my soul’s owner.”

“He ain't mine” snaps Mimzy. She slides out from under Alastor causing him to gasp and clutch at himself harder. Standing by the bed, Mimzy tells him, “Alastor, give me your hands.” When Alastor ignores her, she grips the arm around his waist and pulls. Alastor gives a little cry and yelps, “Mimzy, stop!”

Mimzy does, but only when she has his arm away from his body. The doctor gives her Alastor’s other hand, then uses both of hers to move his knees from his middle. Alastor howls and feedback fills the room. He tries to pull his arms from Mimzy’s grasp but either she is surprisingly strong or he is weakening fast, and it doesn’t happen. He quickly gives up and lies there, his breathing ragged. Husk takes pity on him, slipping the pillow back under his head and stroking a surprisingly soft ear just the once.

Meanwhile the doctor is bent over to examine his abdomen. “We’re in luck” she announces.

“It ain’t his appendix?” Mimzy asks.

“Oh it is. It perforated hours ago. I can see that from here. But because I can see it, it saves me from having to give the Radio Demon a digital rectal exam.”

Mimzy looks blank. “You were gonna stick a camera up there?”

The doctor gives her a look in return. “A finger, dear.” The doctor turns and heads for the door. “I’ll ask his majesty to open a portal close to the bed.” She manages to make his majesty sound like an insult but Husk figures she ain't the first or last to not take Lucifer seriously.

Mimzy guides Alastor’s hands back to his middle. “Here ya go, kitten. The doctors are gonna fix you up, okay?”

“Yeah” Husk adds, “Not much longer, Al.”

Alastor gives no response beyond drawing his knees up again. Mimzy nudges Husk out the way to stand by his head and stroke his ears some more.

The door opens and everyone comes back in. Charlie comes over to the bed and puts her hand over Alastor’s. “Oh Alastor, you poor thing. Just hang on, everything’s going to be fine.”

Vaggie is holding her angelic steel spear and when she sees Husk looking, she explains, “I’m going in there with him, just in case any of the medical team have a grudge we don’t know about.”

Husk kind of assumed he’d be going but tells himself it makes sense he won’t be: What if Alastor came round enough to order him to fight the doctors?

Lucifer opens a portal beside the bed, giving them all a glimpse of a gleaming but empty operating room. He asks the doctor, “So…where is everyone?”

She sighs. “They’ll be outside having a smoke, of course. I’ll go round them up.” She steps through.

Lucifer hovers at the edges of the thing. “I, err, I guess I’ll leave it open then.” He glances at the bed then widens the portal a little, drawing its edges to the ground. “They’ll need to get a stretcher through” he explains.

Makes sense, thinks Husk, there’s no way Alastor is standing up at this point. And it won’t be fun getting him onto a stretcher either.

But in the end, it’s not him that has to worry about that. A white coated team stream through the portal with a gurney and lift Alastor on to it under the directions of the goat doctor. He gives a strangled little scream and Husk steps forward instinctively but stalls when Angel takes his hand and says, “It’s okay, Husky. They’ll look after him. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried about the bastard” Husk replies, but he still watches until the portal closes.

Chapter Text

The dogs are back. Sharp pain pierces Alastor as a mass of them tear at him. Several must have their snouts buried in his guts judging by the agony there but they are all around him as well, pulling his limbs about and dragging him from a soft surface to a cold, hard one. They have reduced the world to painpainpain and Alastor can’t shake them off. He can’t move. He can’t defend himself as they lay into him.

He is distantly aware that he is making a spectacle of himself, screaming and groaning but what else is he supposed to do when he is being eaten alive?

The hotel is gone. Perhaps it was never there. Perhaps the whole thing was just a hallucination he was having while still in his mistress’s clutches, his mind seeking relief. Anything is better than time spent with her, after all, even a doomed hotel with tacky circus décor.

And now she has sent these dogs to punish him.

It would make sense for Charlie not to be real. Kindness in Hell? What whacky nonsense.

But then, Rosie is kind. Alastor would give a lot to see Rosie right now. Rosie would save him from the dogs.

With an agonising effort, he twists onto his side, trying to shake them off his middle. They cling on, pulling him back to his prone position, forcing his knees down and it hurts.

The bayou, the tasteless décor, Mimzy and the collection of anxious residents may have all melted away but for some reason Vaggie is still here. She steps into his field of vision, gripping her angelic steel spear and Alastor thinks, good. She must be here to finish him off. But Vaggie just stares down at him with a pitying expression and says, “Calm down cabrón. These people are trying to help.”

One of the dogs, an oddly aquatic-themed dog, puts a plastic mask over his face and tells him, “Breathe normally.” But Alastor left breathing normally behind a while ago and why should he listen to someone intent on tearing him apart? He turns his head to avoid the mask but the creature slips it on anyway. He tries to raise and arm to pull it off but they have all his limbs in their claws, pinning him down.

“Now count backwards from one hundred” someone says. Vaggie stands over him again. She is wearing a mask of her own now. Not transparent like his but white and opaque. Muffled through it she says, “Relax, Alastor” as if anyone can relax by being eaten. But somehow, amid the searing agony, Alastor finds himself losing consciousness and drifting mercifully away. 

~~~

Husk is sat on a couch in a little alcove down the hallway from Alastor’s room. He was in the room, helping here and there while Niffty sterilised it, but she’s kicked him out at last. She went all out, stripping the bed, replacing the sheets with ones she sent Husk to boil and tumble dry in advance, sweeping and scrubbing every surface and spraying chemicals around like she was fumigating the place. Next she cleaned and bleached the bathroom and then she attempted to bleach the bayou. Husk persuaded her Alastor probably likes his bayou unbleached but not until after they encountered some large, lurking creature with glowing eyes, which hastily retreated when Niffty sprayed detergent in its face. Then Niffty sent Husk out “because we’ve got the room clean enough that you’re probably the messiest thing in it, no offence”.

So now here he is. Nothing to do but wait. It’s been hours.

“Hey, Husky.” Angel sits down next to him and hands him a mug. “You look like you could use this.”

Just coffee, sadly. Husk still says, “Thanks” and drinks deeply. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Finding Mimzy a new room. Lucifer suggested it but I dunno if that was to distract Charlie from worrying or to distract Mimzy from flirting with him.”

Husk laughs without amusement and wonders how long they’ll have to put up with Mimzy.

Angel asks, “Maybe you should go back to bed? You look done in.”

“I’m fine.”

“You using Al’s definition of the word of something?”

Husk sighs at the reminder of what a fucking idiot his overlord is. He replies, “I mean, I’m okay to stay up til he’s back.”

“He’ll be asleep you realise. You don’t have to wait up for him.”

“I just…” Just what, Husk wonders. Just wants to see for himself that Alastor is okay is what. Why the fuck does he want that? “I dunno. I’m just wondering what the hold up is. They should be done by now.”

“I guess. But it had burst already.”

Husk isn’t sure what that means for Alastor’s recovery. The handful of people he knew in life who went down with this all got operated on before that happened. Instead he says, “Hey, well done on the drugs thing by the way. On not having the hard stuff, I mean. I’m proud of you.”

Angel’s fur is thin enough that Husk sees the blush. Angel gives a little smile and says, “Yeah, it’s going okay, I guess.”

Then they hear Charlie’s voice calling from a distant corridor: “Dad? Dad get up here, we need a portal!”

Exchanging a glance, Husk and Angel get up and go and find her. Charlie runs into them, literally, hurrying the way they’ve come. She greets them with, “Vaggie just called, she said they’re done at last!” She calls back over her shoulder, “Dad, are you coming?” then turns back to them. “Let’s go!” She rushes on to Alastor’s bedroom.

Husk wasn’t expecting Alastor to look well coming out of surgery but he’s surprised how fragile the overlord seems. No obvious pain in his expression at last, but it’s been replaced with blankness, what with Alastor being unconscious and lying very still. His smile is small and his complexion is several shades paler than it was when he left. His face looks thin under a clumsy mask and he has a dressing on his torso which somehow adds to the breakable impression in a way the bandages after the angelic steel wound didn’t. For one thing, Alastor was awake and pissed off after that.

It takes a lot longer to move him from the gurney to his bed than it did going the other way, because he’s connected to wires, tubes and bags of fluids now, which need to be carefully arranged around him.

Mimzy comes in and inserts herself into the action, fussing over Alastor once he’s safely in the bed. Most of the doctors file out straight away. The goat doctor stays to give Charlie a long list of instructions while she nods and writes notes, her smile slowly fading.

Angel asks Vaggie, “You okay, toots?” and Husk realises that she looks kinda shaken.

“I’ve had better nights” she admits and gestures to Alastor. “His abdominal cavity was a mess.”

Niffty gives a sympathetic little squeak and climbs on to the bed, slowly and carefully so as not to jostle Alastor. She takes his hand and settles down holding it in both of hers.

Mimzy shudders theatrically. “I don’t want to know about his insides, okay.” She takes the hand Niffty isn’t holding.

Lucifer closes the portal once all the medical staff have left. Coming over to the bed, Charlie tells them, “I wanted at least one of them to stay with him a while but no one volunteered.”

“Sorry, Char Char, but I can’t say I blame them” says Lucifer.

Charlie turns to him with a bright, false smile and says, “Well actually, dad…”

“Oh no! Nope, no, no way am I sitting up with this freak!”

“But if he starts fighting when comes round, you’re the only one who can stop him hurting himself!”

“Well, what are the chances of that?” asks Lucifer.

Husk replies, “With Alastor? Pretty high.”

Charlie nods. “The doctor says it’s more common if the patient struggles with trust.”

Angel says, “Oh, so we’re screwed.”

“I wouldn’t say that” says Charlie.

“I would” says Husk.

“Well” says Lucifer, “Can’t someone else…” He trails off, apparently realising that no one else in here can counter Alastor’s magic. Husk takes pity on him and says, “I’ll stay too.” Having someone he doesn’t hate around might help keep Alastor calm. Husk is well aware that Alastor doesn’t hate him. He ain't important enough for that in Alastor’s twisted mind.

Mimzy plants a kiss on Alastor’s hand and steps away from the bed. “Well you boys have fun. Call me when he wakes up.” She leaves.

Charlie looks a little taken aback but says, “Actually, that’s a good idea. Everyone not staying up should get some sleep so they can take over in the morning.”

“It is morning, doll face” says Angel. He stretches. “Just crazy early and I gotta work tomorrow.” He turns to Husk. “You don’t mind if I go to bed?”

“Course not.”

Angel runs a hand along Husk’s shoulders, then looks down at Al. “Good luck with him.”

“Thanks.” They’ll need it, Husk thinks grimly.

As Angel leaves, Niffty pipes up, “I can sleep here.”

Charlie tells her, “You’ll be more use to Alastor tomorrow if you’re rested.”

Husk adds, “Yeah, you know he’d tell you to go to bed if he was awake.”

Niffty considers this. “Then I’ll sleep next door” she decides. “Wake me up if he makes any messes.” She hurries out.

Vaggie turns to Charlie and says, “Hon? Time to follow your own good advice.”

Charlie stays staring down at Alastor. “But I want to stay. I’ve been so worried.”

Lucifer says, “We’ll call you if he needs you, duckling. You go get some rest.”

“Please?” asks Vaggie. When Charlie doesn’t look convinced, she adds, “After seeing that surgery, I could use some cuddles.”

Charlie finally looks away from Alastor, smiling gently at her girlfriend and slipping an arm around her. As they leave, she pauses to say, “Oh, make sure you keep him warm! That’s another thing we have to be careful about.”

A blanket appears over Alastor’s duvet. Charlie smiles. “Thanks, dad.” Then she adds, “Oh, but not too warm!”

“Charlie” says Vaggie, “They’ve got this.” She leads Charlie away at last.

Left alone with Alastor and Lucifer, Husk eyes the various bags, monitors and tubes connected to the overlord. Fuck knows what they’re supposed to do with all this stuff. Hopefully Charlie was told.

Following his gaze, Lucifer says, “They’re coming back to check on him tomorrow. I’m on portal duty again.”

Husk relaxes a little and pulls Alastor’s fancy winged chairs over to the bed, placing one on each side. He and Lucifer sit down.

Alastor hasn’t moved since they put him in bed. Husk adjusts the blanket, noticing as he does a pattern of apples across it. Then he puts a hand to Alastor’s head and readjusts the blanket again by taking it off him. “He don’t need this right now, he’s still running a temperature.” That done, he sits down with a sigh.

“You look like you could use this” says Lucifer, and Husk finds his own mug appearing in his hands, full of coffee again. He startles, almost dropping it, but holds on. “Thanks.” It’s his Fuck Mondays mug, he notes. It ain't even Monday. He should get more mugs.

“So…” says Lucifer, glancing between Husk and Alastor, “You and him friends or something?”

“No.”

Lucifer seems to deflate with relief. “Oh thank fuck! I didn’t want to be left alone with the sort of guy who’s friends with a cannibal, you know?”

Husk ain't sure what to say to that. He knows what not to say: That he and Alastor were friends, back when he was an overlord, or at least he thought they were. Before Husk can start to wonder what fuck he was thinking back then, Alastor opens his eyes.

Alastor doesn’t disappoint on the waking up fighting front, only he mostly fights himself, tearing the mask off and clawing at his face so hard that he draws blood before Husk can stop him. “Shit.” Husk attempts to pull Alastor’s hand from his face. “Boss? Alastor! Quit that, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

Duck themed padded restraints materialise out of nowhere and pin Alastor’s arm down. This does not help Alastor’s mood. He lifts his head from the pillow and snaps his jaws, causing Husk to jump back sharply.

“Okay!” Lucifer steps forward, getting into Alastor’s field of vision and aggravating him further. “You need to calm down, bellhop.”

Static fills the air, distorting Alastor’s voice as he says, “I demand you let me go!” The he gasps and falls back against the pillow.

“Alright” says Husk, “Enough.” He steps closer to the bed and spreads his wing over Alastor’s top half, hiding Lucifer from the overlord and creating a little pocket of space occupied only by Alastor, Husk and a lot of medical equipment. “Alastor?”

Alastor turns to him and makes a visible but not particularly successful effort to focus. “Husker?”

“Yeah, I’m here. You need to try and relax, okay? You’ve just had surgery.”

“Nonsense. I’d know.”

“Well, no, Al, that’s kinda the point of anaesthetics. You won’t remember.”

“I’d know” Alastor insists. His eyelids droop and he snaps them open again, his eyes glassy.

No point arguing when he’s this out of it, Husk decides. “Okay” he says, “But can you keep still? You need to rest.”

Alastor tugs hard on the restraints, his pupils turning to dials. “I’ll keep still when I can move!”

From somewhere beyond his outstretched wing, Husk hears Lucifer say, “What? That doesn’t even make sense!”

Husk puts a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Okay” he says, “How’s this? You lie still for five minutes and then we’ll…Boss?”

Alastor has fallen asleep again. Husk retracts his wing to find Lucifer wearing a sheepish grin. The king of Hell says, “I, err, I guess we should clean his face up, huh? Or should we put the mask back on him?”

Husk looks around for the first aid kit and finds Niffty has left it on a side table after her cleaning spree. He extracts antiseptic wipes and a few plasters, then tends to Alastor’s self-inflicted wounds before replacing the mask.

Lucifer gestures to the cuts. “I hope Charlie isn’t too mad about it.”

“Hey, he caught us by surprise. He’s a quick bastard.” As an afterthought, Husk wipes the blood from Alastor’s claws. “Could you get the restraints off? It’ll only freak him out if he wakes up in them.”

Lucifer doesn’t look too sure about this but, like Charlie, he’s a people pleaser and opts to do what Husk asks rather than argue about it. All he says as they sit down again is, “We’ll have to keep a closer eye on him though.”

“We can do that.” Husk wonders how long they’ll be here and wishes he’d bought a book. He thinks about playing solitaire but that’s kinda antisocial with Lucifer here. He could ask if the guy wants a game but it ain't a great look if Charlie walks in and he and her dad are using Alastor’s unconscious body as a card table. No, he’ll just have to sit here. Probably for the best if Al tries to injure himself again.

Lucifer leans towards Alastor curiously and waits. Nothing happens. Lucifer sits back. “Well” he says and, with a snap of his fingers, conjures a sketch book. As he opens it, Husk gets a glimpse of little duck designs. “I guess we’re in for a long wait.”

~~~

Alastor wakes slowly, gradually becoming aware that he is lying in a soft bed, and then of the scent of the bayou, moss, pine and damp earth.

His own room then. Good.

There is a gap in his memory and, when Alastor examines it, his consciousness clears the gap and encounters unwelcome recollections on the other side. Crushing pain. Relentless nausea. His pathetic weakness in front of everyone in the hotel. Was Lucifer here? That would just be the sugar on the cream.

He is never going to live this down.

At least the pain isn’t as bad now. Still very much there but Alastor is confident he could sit up and hold a conversation now. Anything else might be a step too far. The nausea has stuck around too, but, like the pain, it has been tamed.

Tamed by something other than time and his own willpower, it seems. There is a heavy sensation in his head that seems to be holding the worst of the lingering sickness at bay and reducing the pain to a distant, persistent ache. Did Angel Dust finally come through with the drugs?

No, he realises. Not Angel. There were other people here. Who else saw him like that? Alastor sighs at the thought.

“Alastor?”

Alastor bolts upwards, then gasps as the pain flares.

“Careful!”

Gentle hands steer him back down and suddenly Charlie is sitting on the bed, staring worriedly down at him. Alastor is surprised how happy he is that she is real. A ridiculous thought, but reality was a hard thing to keep track of for a moment there.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Then she adds, “Sorry, silly question. Of course you’re not okay. I just mean, are you hurt from sitting up like that?”

Another silly question, he wants to tell her: Obviously he can sit upright without any ill effects. But he finds he can’t talk just now and focuses instead on breathing through the pain until it diminishes enough to sink back under the control of whatever drugs he is on.

Sitting makes him realise how ill he still feels. Shivery and feverish, and utterly exhausted. “I’m fine” he tells Charlie.

“Alastor, please don’t lie to me.”

“The pain’s gone” Alastor defends. When she doesn’t seem convinced, he concedes, “Mostly.”

Charlie stares at him, looking hurt and a little annoyed. “You have to tell us the truth about these things” she says, “You’re already really sick because you didn’t tell us how bad it was yesterday.”

Yesterday? That at least tells him how long he has been lying here compromised. Compromised and surrounded by…What is all this? Alastor moves his head – finding he can at least do that without pain – to examine the odd assortment of devices around the bed. Some sort of monitor – not Voxtech he is relieved to note – and a canister of some gas which…which is connected to a mask over his face. How did he not notice that before? He makes a noise of disgust and pulls it off.

Charlie pushes it back on. “It’s only oxygen” she tells him, “And you need it.”

Alastor glares, but decides to tolerate the mask for the sake of not angering her further. He needs Charlie’s good opinion. Instead he looks around at the rest of the equipment. Another monitor and a bag containing a clear liquid suspended on a stand.

“Antibiotics” Charlie explains, following his gaze, “You’re going to be on them for the next few weeks.” Her expression slips, annoyance giving way to worry. “You have a nasty infection. You’re going to have to take your time to recover and let us take care of you, okay?”

None of this makes any sense. It was just a stomach ache. How did it escalate like this? “Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“What in Satan’s name is going on?”

“Your appendix burst” says Charie, almost apologetically.

Alastor searches his mind for any information connected to the term appendix and finds nothing. His knowledge of anatomy is highly specialised. If it isn’t edible and can’t be targeted in a fight, it isn’t worth knowing about.

Perhaps the blank he is drawing shows on his face because Charlie says, “I didn’t know what it was either but apparently it’s an organ. Everyone else said it’s useless but dad said the angels did have their reasons for including it in the design. But even he said you can manage just fine without it. Which is good! That you don’t need it, I mean, because it burst.” The apologetic tone is back. Alastor wonders what a burst internal organ entails. It can’t possibly be pretty. It would certainly explain the pain.

“But it’s out now.” Charlie tells him, “Now you can focus on healing.”

Alastor frowns, piecing all this information together with his hazy memories. “There was a doctor here.”

“Yes, Dr Wallace. She’s great.” Charlie smiles brightly.

“How many people know?” Alastor asks because it’s the closest he can bring himself to asking How many people saw me like that?

“Only the other residents and Mimzy. And my dad. And the doctors, but we’ve sworn them to secrecy.”

Far, far too many people. Alastor will have to be back on his feet and out and about as soon as possible to quash any rumours.

Charlie adds, “Oh, and Rosie. She sent the flowers.” Charlie indicates a bouquet in a vase across the room, velvety black roses elegantly set off by a spray of tiny white buds. Charlie tells says, “She’s going to visit tomorrow.”

At least this news is welcome. The rest of it has Alastor’s mind reeling. It is beginning to dawn on him that he was quite unwell. Unwell enough to require surgery, in fact, and an unacceptable amount of people saw him in that state.

Possibly all of Hell, he realises with a shudder. “What about Vox’s drones?” Alastor feels his heart rate increase as the idea sinks in and of the monitors lets out a little beep. Charlie hurriedly takes his hand and tells him, “Deep breaths, okay? You don’t need to worry about the drones, dad opened a portal straight into the operating theatre.”

Damn Lucifer and those damned portals. Though at least the useless king was useful for once, Alastor supposes. It is certainly better than Vox seeing. But it puts him in Lucifer’s debt and that is not a place he wants to be.

Charlie tightens her grip on his hand. “No one outside the hotel saw anything” she tells him. “And the only person we’ve told is Rosie.”

Rosie can be trusted, Alastor tells himself. Mimzy can keep a secret when she has too. Perhaps the situation is salvageable. He widens his smile, keen to laugh his concern off, but closes his eyes against a wave of nausea instead. Charlie strokes his arm, which is admittedly soothing but Alastor is keenly aware that this isn’t how it is supposed to go: She is supposed to rely on him, not the other way around!

“Alastor? Do you feel faint? You’re not looking good.”

Damage control is required, he decides. For all that Charlie seems perplexingly tender hearted, there must be a part of even her that is disgusted by his weakness, and he needs her to look up to him, not down on him as he wallows in sickness. “My dear, I can only apologise for all the inconvenience I’ve put you to. I will of course recompensate you for anything you’ve already paid the doctor.”

“I don’t care about that. I’m a princess, remember? Pretty much the one good thing about it is I have money to spend on my friends.”

“I’m not a charity case. I’ll pay my way.”

Charlie looks about to argue, but all she says is, “We can talk about this later. Right now, let’s just focus on getting you well.”

Of course, because he has a job to do here. Only natural that she wants her hotelier to be able to actually do the job. “I’ll be back to work first thing tomorrow” says Alastor, making a snap decision that today might be a little ambitious, “And of course I can do paperwork in bed.”

“Alastor, you…” Charlie trails off, staring at him.

“What is it, dear?”

“I’m trying to work out if the drugs are making you confused or if you really are this stupid.”

Alastor lets a little static slip. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

“I’m not laughing. Alastor, do you really think I care about you missing work? I’ve signed you off for a month!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, you not telling anyone how sick you were is ridiculous!”

“That’s hardly fair: I didn’t know what it was.”

“You knew how bad you felt though, and you didn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t want to put anyone to any trouble.”

“You didn’t want to trust us.” Charlie glares for a moment before her tone softens. “Trust can be really scary, Alastor. Especially if you’ve been hurt before. But there are times you have to let other people help you and that includes when you’re sick.”

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Alastor is not remotely sorry. Well, he is sorry he got sick and that it got as bad as it did. But sorry over Charlie’s hurt feeling? Frankly those are the least of his worries. But for the sake of not falling out with her and driving her back into the arms of the father who is already too involved in this situation.

Charlie offers him a wobbly smile. “So am I. I know you struggle with letting people get close and I should have realised how much worse that might be when you’re sick. I should have kept a closer eye on you.”

“You’re hardly my keeper.”

“Well I should be! I should keep all my friends safe!” Charlie looks away, her expression crumpling. “I already failed Pen” she whispers.

Wonderful. Now she is comparing him to the idiot snake. Alastor can’t think what to say to that so he just reaches for her hand and squeezes it. Charlie wipes her eyes and smiles at him.

She called him her friend, he realises. They haven’t known each other a year and he walked into this place saying he wanted to watch her fail, and she still called him her friend. Bizarre girl.

Charlie asks tentatively, “Maybe this could be a learning experience for both of us?”

Yes, Alastor thinks, sarcastic in the privacy of his own head. He has learnt what an appendix is and about the outer limits of his pain endurance. Delightful. But Charlie is still smiling expectantly and appeasing her may be the only way to stay in her good graces. Alastor squeezes her hand again. “Perhaps” he says and her smile grows.

“Great!” she says, “And we’ll all have loads of time to bond while you’re recovering! I was thinking we could read together, and do jigsaws, and just really talk, you know? But later, of course! Right now, you really need to sleep.”

The depressing thing is, she is correct. Their short conversation has left him drained. Charlie insists on tucking him in. Alastor would be embarrassed but, now his exhaustion has been acknowledged, it grows, and he finds he is struggling to keep his eyes open.

Charlie doesn’t leave. Alastor opens his mouth to hint that she should, then falls asleep before the words form.

He opens them to find Husk staring down at him, carrying a steaming bowl on a tray. The light from the bayou has shifted into a subtle twilight. He has slept the day away.

“Hey, boss.”

“Hello, Husker.” Alastor vaguely recalls clinging to Husk last night. He hopes that came across as possessive and domineering rather than needy but it seems optimistic. 

Charlie is gone, but the chair by the bed is scattered with evidence of her presence: Her shrugged-off blazer, a face-down book, an empty mug.

“Yeah” says Husk, following his gaze, “I sent her to take a break. Poor kid’s been at your bedside all day. It’s like she thinks you’re a person.”

“My, my, Husker, how very catty you are today.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Alastor plays his laugh track. Husk glares for a moment, but then asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Uh huh. And I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Wouldn’t Purr-sia be a more appropriate domain?”

Husk rolls his eyes. “Hide behind puns all you want, Al. Anything to avoid thinking about how you almost double died instead of just admitting you’re mortal, I guess.” Before Alastor can reply, Husk holds up a hand and goes on, “Look, boss, even with all the security concerns, you should have said something sooner. Especially with the security concerns: We could have planned better if we’d had more time.”

“Spare me the lecture, Husker. I’ve already had it from Charlie.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Well you’ve made your point.”

“I think it’s your appendix that’s done that.”

Alastor grimaces and, ignoring a bout of dizziness, struggles upright. Husk swears under his breath, sets the tray aside and pulls the pillows up to support him.

Once he is sat up properly (and has got his breath back, but no one need mention that), Alastor nods to the tray. “Is that for me or were you just carrying it for fun?”

Husk doesn’t answer, just reaches beside the bed for a folding table Alastor knows doesn’t belong to him. It has a suspicious duck pattern on it, so he is sure it isn’t from the hospital either. He would complain, but there is no denying it is useful when he is embarrassingly unable to eat at a table.

Husk lifts the bowl from the tray and puts it on the table. It contains a pitifully thin broth. Husk hands Alastor a spoon. Alastor takes the mask off and asks, “Don’t I at least get any bread to go with this?”

“Nope. Liquids only this week. Doctor’s orders.”

Alastor glares at Husk. The cat enjoyed imparting that news far too much.

But when he dips the spoon into the broth, the nausea swells and he realises he is simply not going to be able to eat this.

It must show on his face (When did he get so bad at hiding weakness?) because Husk tells him, “Just have what you can.” He takes a seat by the bed and has the decency to look across the room to the bayou rather than watch Alastor struggle.

Alastor forces down one spoonful, then another. Then he sets the spoon aside, telling himself he is simply taking a break, and says, “I’m sure you’re enjoying every minute of this.”

“Are you kidding me? The way you kept us all up last night ain't my idea of a good time.”

“I’m sure seeing me in pain was worth the sleep depravation.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause I’m a sick fuck who loves the sound of screaming. Oh wait, that’s you.”

“Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, Husker.” Alastor lifts the spoon again and makes himself swallow a third spoonful. His stomach churns threateningly. He pushes the bowl away.

Husk eyes the bowl unhappily. Alastor supposes he as just wasted the time of whoever made the broth.

Husk seems to shake himself and gathers up the barely untouched meal. “I’ll bring more later” he says, “I figure little and often is the way to do this.”

Alastor, unsure how to respond to this attentive consideration, lets a little static slip and lies back down. More static fizzes crossly through the air when Husk puts the mask back on him.

“You probably shouldn’t be left on your own” Husk says, lifting the tray, “So I’ll come back up after I dump this downstairs…” He trails off as a knock sounds on the door and Mimzy’s voice calls out, “Alastor? You awake yet?”

Husk sighs. “…Or not” he says. He eyes Alastor critically. “Are you up to seeing her? ‘Cause she’s the opposite of restful company.”

Alastor ignores him and calls out, “Yes, Mimzy, dear!”

Husk rolls his eyes, mutters something that sounds like “Your funeral” and leaves as Mimzy enters, hurrying over to the bed, her arms out for a hug. Alastor braces himself but when the hug comes, Mimzy is surprisingly gentle, holding him as if he might shatter.

She doesn’t let go for a long time.

When she finally releases him, Mimzy pulls the chair Husk vacated closer, telling him, “Sweetie, it is so good to see you awake! I dropped by earlier, but you were out like a light and the little princess wanted to talk redemption so I scrammed.”

“Quite understandable.”

“Yeah, well, the whole thing sounds like a real drag. I dunno what you see in this place.” She settles back in the chair and produces a cigarette. “Want one?”

“No, thank you.” Alastor is glad she didn’t wait for an explanation as what he sees in the hotel. He isn’t sure he could give one, even leaving aside the need to keep certain things to himself.

“You still look rough” Mimzy tells him conversationally, lighting up her smoke.

“I’m fine.”

“No offence, Alastor, but I don’t think you ever get to use that line again.” Mimzy takes a drag and sighs. “You got people who care for you, sweetie. You can just tell us if you’re sick, it don’t got to be a drama.”

“I’m shocked, dear: You wanting to avoid drama?”

Mimzy slaps his arm very, very gently. “So I don’t want to you to double die, so sue me.” She pauses and adds, “I mean, who’d look after little old me if you weren’t here? We’re in Hell here. I need you around.”

For the second time in as many days, Alastor finds himself dealing with guilt, because Mimzy is absolutely correct. What if he had lost the fight against her perusers? It doesn’t bear thinking about. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“Yeah, I bet you are now you’re all fucked up and bed bound.”

Alastor lets static hiss from a nearby radio and tells her, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Well of course not, you only had the one appendix.”

Alastor lets the static grow but finds he doesn’t have the energy to argue beyond that. This whole experience is proving to be beyond frustrating.

Mimzy improves matters slightly by saying, “But, hey, I checked in. Just until you’re better. You’ve got Charlie planning what sappy movies to watch with you so I figure having me around balances things out at least.”

Alastor smiles genuinely for the first time since all this happened. “Thank you, Mimzy. And when I’m back on my feet, I’ll be sure to take you dancing.”

“You better. First I gotta watch you puke, then I gotta put up with Princess Sunbeam, then I’m all worried you’re gonna double die.” Mimzy puts the cigarette to her lips and inhales deeply. “You know, sometimes I think it’s good I died first. I don’t know what I’d do if you left me all alone.”

For that Mimzy is refreshingly self serving, Alastor knows that, for once, she isn’t just talking about how useful he is to her. He shifts to take her hand. She smoothes her thumb over his knuckles. “Ya look tired, kitten. How about you get some shuteye? I’ll be here.”

Alastor wants to tell her that he really doesn’t need anyone hovering about watching him sleep, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. Instead he just smiles and closes his eyes.