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The room smelled faintly of lavender and sweat. The curtains drawn to block the dim red glow of Hell's sky. Angel Dust laying sprawled in their bed, trembling under the many blankets Alastor laid laid over him. Alastor fussing with each one he laid. Fur fully damp with fever swear, his usually fluffy hair was now matted, wet. An uncomfortable warmth, too warm for him. A wet flannel sat carefully folded up on his forehead, a small attempt to cool him and the fever.
Alastor sat on the edge of the mattress, one hand gently rubbing circles into Angel's shoulder in a repetitive motion, trying to bring him some comfort through this. His smile smaller, smug grin gone. "There now, you'll feel cooler in a moment." He murmured, "Now rest, won't you? Stubbornness will do this fever no good."
Angel let out a tired mumble, "Ya really know how to sweep a guy off his feet… All bedridden' an' sweaty, thrown onto a damn mattress by his husband…"
Alastor chuckled lowly, leaning down just enough to press a gentle kiss to Angel's temple. "The romance, my dear, is in the care. Now hush and close those tired eyes."
"I don't wanna sleep…" He mumbled, "Yer' fussin… Guess I'm not lookin' so hot, huh?"
"You look positively dreadful," Alastor replied bluntly. Then something gentler, "Which means you need rest."
Angel wanted to make another joke, bite back, argue or even just snuggle into Alastor closer, but the fever pulled him down too heavy to fight back. His lashes fluttering as his hand reached weakly towards Alastor, barely making it to the Deer's hand before it falling. And then, he was asleep, chest rising and falling in exhausted rhythm.
"There we are," Alastor murmered, sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the flannel with almost surgical precision, replacing it whenever it grew warm. Eventually, satisfied that Angel had managed to drift into something deeper, he sat back in the chair beside the bed, opening a leather-bound novel, and began to read.
The night settling heavy around them, broken only by the turning of pages and Angel's uneven breathing.
It was the sound that first caught Alastor's attention. A broken, muffled whimper. Alastor's eyes flickering up from his book, Angel shifting in the sheets. Fingers shakily clutching at the blanket as if he were holding onto it for dear life.
Another whimper escaping him, one that was harsher, unsteady with fear. His chest rising too quickly as his whole body trembled beneath the fevers heat. And then, the sound changed. Small, choked sobs breaking through the pitiful rest.
Alastor set his book down immediately.
"Angel?" He called softly, uncharacteristically gently. Leaning over the bed as he gently brushed the damp strands of sweaty hair away from his forehead. Still way too hot. "Angel, Darling, wake up."
Angel's body jerked, as if caught in some unseen terror. Tears spilling from his eyes as he shook and shuddered. His lips parting as he cried in his sleep. Alastor pressing his hand against his shoulder, giving it a light shake to not startle him further. "Stop- S-stop, Val, please." He sobbed.
"Angel, it's just a dream. Come back to me, my dear."
At last, Angel startled awake with a sharp cry, chest heaving, eyes wide and glassy with fever and panic. Looking around as if he didn't know where he was, terror until the moment his gaze landed on Alastor.
"A-Al," He choked, voice cracking.
Alastor didn't hesitate, slipping onto the bed as he gathered Angel into his arms. Angel collapsing against him immediately, clinging with desperate strength. More strength than he'd had all day, fueled only by fear. Shaking so badly it rattled through Alastors frame. His sobs raw, ragged, wet against Alastor's shirt.
"I've got you," Alastor whispered, pressing his lips against the side of Angel's face. "Shhh. You're safe. You're with me."
Angel shook his head, burying his face deeper into Alastor's chest. His body trembling in waves as though the nightmare was still there. "Fuck, it-it felt so real," He gasped between sobs. "I-I thought-" His words breaking off as he broke off into another round of tears.
Alastor tightened his hold, one hand stroking along Angel's back, the other cradling the back of his head. "It isn't real, none of it. Just shadows in your mind. I'm here, I won't let them touch you."
Angel hiccupped, clutching tighter, fingers curling into Alastor's shirt. "Don't let go, Al. Please- Don't let go."
"Never," Alastor murmured, the word so gentle it could've been mistaken for a vow. "I'll never let you go."
They stayed like that for a while, Angel trembling as he tried to calm the sobs, as Alastor held him as steady as he needed. Whispering nonsense comforts, soft shushing, quiet reassurances that never stopped. All smugness replaced by something low, soothing, meant only for Angel's ears.
"Shhh, now. Just breathe. You're alright, mon cher. Safe, sound, secure. Nothing's going to harm you, not while I'm around."
Gradually, Angel's sobs slowed, though the grip never loosened. His breaths coming in uneven gulps as every few breaths hitched involuntarily. "I'm sorry," He whispered hoarsley into Alastor's chest.
"There's nothing to be apologizing for." He replied immediately. "Nightmares prey upon us all, especially when unwell. You've done nothing wrong."
Angel sniffled, tilting his head just enough to look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "God, I'm such a mess."
Alastor brushing a thumb gently over Angel's wet cheek. "You're perfect, you'll always be perfect to me."
That earned him a tiny, broken laugh, Angel burrowing close again, pressing his nose into Alastor's shoulder. "Can you just… Stay? And hold me?"
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else," Alastor murmured. Laying back down carefully, guiding Angel downwards until he laid across his chest. Angel curling up close, still trembling as Alastor draped an arm firmly around his waist, steadying him.
As Angel's breathing slowed once more, Alastor pressed his lips against the top of his head with a gentle kiss. "There. Nothing can reach you now. Sleep if you can, I'll keep watch."
Angel cuddling tighter, voice muffled but raw with need. "Don't stop talking. Please just keep sayin' stuff."
And he did, voice dipped low and steady as he whispered. Old stories, half-remembered recipes he hadn't cooked in years. Nonsense phrases in French and English alike, anything to break the silence, bring comfort. Between each, he whispered more reassurances, quiet promises, tender shushing. Steady reminders to Angel that he was not alone.
And with each whisper, Angel's body loosened. The trembling slowing, the grip around Alastor's nightshirt softening. His breaths evening out, still shaky but more at peace. He never let go entirely, not even as sleep pulled him under again, but this time his face smoothed out, free of the torment from before.
Alastor stayed awake, eyes trained on him, hand stroking his back in slow, steady lines. And when Angel gave a faint, sleepy whimper, Alastor immediately whispered. "Hush, my dear. I'm here."
Because tonight, Angel was all that mattered.