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Husk hated being ill.
The endless runny nose, the cotton-like fuzziness in his brain, and the feverish sweating always hit him harder than he expected, leaving him feeling useless and out of commission for days, sometimes weeks. He hated it all.
When he’d ended up in Hell, he had hoped he'd be free of the chains of mortal ailments but he should’ve known better since it is Hell after all.
The first time he’d gotten sick he’d toughed it out alone in his shitty one-bedroom apartment, barely eating and drinking, suffering at the mercy of a common cold. Truly pathetic in his opinion.
As an Overlord he’d at least had people he could call on to help him out if he got too ill to function on his own. He preferred not to use people to do his bidding but, in this one circumstance, he’d use every last one of the souls under his command to help him get well as soon as possible.
After losing his title and power to Alastor, he had luckily not fallen ill for several years. Until now, that is.
He’s burrowed in bed under every blanket he’d been able to scrounge up, suffering from a migraine and a scratchy throat. His mouth is dry as a desert because his nose is so stuffy he possibly couldn't breathe through it, and whenever he tries, it causes a whistling sound that drives him up the wall.
He hates being ill, but it's different this time around.
He's finally gotten himself comfortable enough that sleep is tugging at the edge of his mind, but he's pulled away from that edge as the door to his room opens. He listens to the feet pad over his carpet and stop next to his bed. He grumbles incoherently, trying to tell whoever it is to go away, but they only laugh at him. The bastard.
”Got you medicine. Or would a kiss be more effective, Sleeping Beauty,” Angel chirps and boops his nose. Husk pushes his face into his mound of blankets in an attempt to hide but the devil that is Angel pulls them back instead. He grips onto the blanket and growls. ”Come on, you’ll feel better once you drink this.”
Husk cracks open an eye to glare at the spider holding up a steaming mug of tea as a peace offering. He contemplates yanking the blanket back over his head but thinks it would be a losing battle in his weakened state, so instead he reaches for the tea. Angel holds it out of reach and tuts. ”You gotta sit up first.”
Husk tries to channel all of his irritation into a menacing glare but, if Angel’s smirk is anything to go by, it likely only comes off as an angry kitten trying to stare him down. Reluctantly, he pushes himself up into a sitting position, his aching muscles protesting at the movement. Angel holds up a box of tissues as his nose starts dripping and he grabs one gratefully to blow his nose, loudly.
”You’re kinda cute like this,” Angel remarks.
”Piss off,” Husk balls up the tissue before throwing it at Angel who avoids it easily.
”So ungrateful,” Angel pouts but finally hands Husk the mug of tea. The heat of the ceramic is both comforting and uncomfortable, and he breathes in the steam. It's lemon-scented, which is not his favorite flavor, but he's just happy he's able to smell it at all. He takes a sip and burns his tongue.
”Careful,” Angel tuts and Husk whacks him with his wing. Angel squawks, falling back onto the carpet to avoid any more hits. The yell startles a laugh out of Husk that turns into a coughing fit, which he doesn't mind so much when it’s the first time he’s laughed in days.
He blows on his tea as Angel rights himself—staying out of reach of his wing in fear of getting hit again—and takes another sip. The warm liquid slides down his throat, soothing the irritation there.The taste isn’t as bad as he expected either. He lets out a pleased hum.
”Good?” Angel asks and Husk nods, keeping his eyes closed. ”Good.”
Angel leans over and strokes his wet bangs out of his face. Husk feels gross but he knows he'll be bedridden for a few more days, so there’s no point in showering yet, although he'd like nothing more. Angel’s fingers are blessedly cool against his overheated skin and he subconsciously leans into the touch.
A small dark part of him unfurls at the care he's shown, reminding him of how his mother used to take care of him when he was ill as a child. It's a part that has been long abandoned and locked away, but which surges forward and latches onto the loving touch like a dog onto a bone, craving more. He never realized how much he'd missed it.
"Stay?" Husk asks in a whisper, barely audible. He feels Angel lean over, placing a kiss on his damp forehead. His reply is equally as quiet.
"Always."
Angel keeps him company for the rest of the day, stroking his back, passing him tissues whenever his nose starts running, and keeping up a mostly one-sided conversation as Husk keeps flitting in and out of consciousness. He's sure Angel will return to his room once nighttime rolls around, but he couldn't be more wrong. Angel leaves for a while, only to come back dressed in his pyjamas. He brings him another mug of tea and more painkillers, before sliding in next to him on the bed like it’s no big deal.
”Aren’t you afraid you'll get sick too?” Husk asks, voice scratchy from coughing but otherwise feeling marginally better than he did that morning. Angel looks at him strangely, and Husk isn’t sure how to read his expression with the lingering fuzziness in his head.
Angel strokes his cheek softly, running his fingers up his temple, and brushes his hair off his forehead. Husk's eyes immediately droop at the feeling. A warmth, unlike his fever, spreads through his chest at Angel's response. ”I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
The unease of being ill and weak dissipates with that promise, letting him sleep contently through the night.
And when Angel expectedly starts feeling under the weather a few days later, Husk is right by his side to help him through it.