It’s almost too good to be true.
“Oh my fucking goodness,” Angel laughs, “You look like a goddamn mess!” He settles on the arm of the couch Alastor has just about become apart of and grins down at him. “How did the big and strong radio demon himself get sick? What a joke!”
He’s treated a grunt in response as Alastor closes his eyes. Angel only takes this as encouragement to get closer, two hands settled on his hips while the other two use Alastor’s sorry excuse of a state to inspect him. When Angel pinches his cheeks Alastor tries to bat his hands away, but only succeeds in barely grasping a wrist, arm dangling weakly.
Angel laughs. He pulls his hands away and shakes his head. “Seriously, how is this even possible? Who the fuck did you piss off to end up like this? Looks to me like you’ve finally bitten off more than you can chew.”
“I’ll chew your face off if you don’t stop talk-” Alastor coughs into his fist, a fit that causes his monocle to fall off. The seat of the couch creaks under his weight as he bangs at his chest. When the coughing subsides, Alastor sighs heavily and sinks back into his seat.
Angel feels like he should laugh and continue mocking him, but something feels wrong. Not wrong like some bullshit Charlie would consider wrong, but something wrong in his chest. Is he having a heart attack? If he’s having a heart attack he definitely doesn’t want to go out in the hotel. Who knows where the fuck he’d end up afterwards.
Angel bends down to pick up the fallen monocle. He holds it up between two fingers and glares at it, as if it’ll tell him the answers he needs. He trails his gaze from the monocle to Alastor several times before a voice in the back of his head calls out to him in Charlie’s annoying voice.
You feel bad. It’s your conscience.
Over my dead body, Angel scoffs.
He’s about to fling the monocle over his shoulder and tell the other to drop dead when he realizes something.
Alastor isn’t smiling.
In fact, he’s so unlike his usual intimidating force that Angel wonders if he’s dreaming. With an exaggerated sigh that causes Alastor to peek open an eye at him, Angel bites the inside of his cheek. This isn’t right.
Angel walks away without glancing back.
He passes by Charlie and Vaggie conversing in the main hallway, but he doesn’t stop to speak to them. He catches them exchanging a look before Charlie shrugs and Vaggie rolls her eyes. They probably think he’s up to something. Normally they’d be right. However right now he’s about to do something he doesn’t even want to acknowledge let alone anyone else know.
It takes about twenty minutes of him cursing at vegetables (in hell where they belong) and his own incompetence before he’s walking back to Alastor.
For a moment he looks asleep, head tilting back on the couch, monocle still missing. Why does he even need the monocle? Pretentious bastard. When Alastor groans under his breath Angel knows he’s awake.
“Here to mock me some more?” Alastor coughs out, two fingers raised to massage his temple. Angel steps forward and places a bowl of soup on his lap. “What is-”
“Don’t say anything. If you say anything about it, it’ll make this real and I can’t have that.” Angel cuts him off, pinching his lips for good measure. “Eat it and never speak of it, capiche?” Before Alastor can say anything stupid, Angel places the monocle he stuffed in his pocket back on his face and smiles sweetly.
He struts away so quickly it probably looks like he has to take a mighty shit. He doesn’t dare look at the expression Alastor gives him. Angel doesn’t even wait to see if he eats the soup.
The following day, Vaggie pulls him aside and asks him why the kitchen looks like sharknado (also in hell) passed through it. Angel just bats his lashes and says he’s not sure. He blames it on one of the other residents who never paid him for his services and darts away from her as soon as her head is turned.
He’s not sure where he’s going for a minute. The hotel is far bigger than it appears and it’s way too easy to get lost in it. When he enters a room and sees Alastor laying in the bed, Angel flips off the ceiling.
“Fuck you,” he mumbles to which Alastor sits up and glares at him.
“I breathed,” Alastor says.
“That wasn’t towards you, but fuck you too!” Angel crosses both sets of his arms over his chest and abdomen.
Alastor drags a hand down his face and stares ahead at a spot on the wall. “I don’t get you. You insult me, make me soup, then insult me the next day. What’s your deal?”
“Ah, ah, ah! I said don’t bring it up, dipshit!” Angel reaches over to pinch his lips closed again but Alastor simply grabs his wrist. The way Alastor’s hand easily covers his wrist makes Angel want to purr out of reflex. He tells himself Alastor only got some of his strength back thanks to him.
Oh god what has he done.
Life returning back to his ruby eyes, Alastor tugs Angel’s arm. “Lay with me.”
“You’re gonna have to pay for that, buddy.” Angel smirks.
“No,” Alastor smiles. Ah, there it is. The smile Angel wants to punch and watch bleed. “Just lay with me. No sex.”
“That’s gay,” Angel retorts instantly. They share a look before Angel groans.
To be fair, there were worse things Alastor could have asked for. Angel still thinks he should charge for his general existence near the other, but he knows that’s not happening.
He crawls in next to Alastor, shoving him to the other side of the bed and nearly rolling him off. He reasons it’s so he doesn’t get sick too. It’s definitely not because being that close to the demon makes something crawl uncomfortably in his stomach.
Please be worms, he silently begs.
Finally in bed, Angel glares at the ceiling. He expects a lingering hand to snake its way between his thighs or towards his chest, but nothing happens.
Every passing second feels like he’s about to lose his mind. At his breaking point, a whole minute later, Angel twists around and leans on his elbow to glance at the other. Alastor is grinning at him with that awful smile of his. Angel instantly regrets looking.
“You care,” Alastor chimes in that annoying radio voice of his. “This just in ladies and gentlemen, Angel Dust has a heart.”
“Fuck you!” Angel lunges at him, but Alastor cocks his head to the side. Angel’s body freezes up as Alastor’s eyes glow. Cursing both Alastor and his powers, Angel grits his teeth and snarls at him.
“Hey now,” Alastor says, voice lower than usual. “I’m not trying to mock you.”
“Really? I think I missed the fucking memo!” Angel gestures with his head at the invisible force restricting him. As soon as he does he’s released and collapses onto the bed. His stomach flips in protest. Stupid demon powers.
Alastor shifts and reaches a hand out. Angel balls his own hands into fists at his sides and prepares to defend himself, only to have Alastor trail the back of his fingers down his cheek.
“Thank you,” Alastor whispers and it sends a chill down Angel’s spine. Fuck. How unfair to give such an all powerful asshole such a soothing borderline mechanical voice.
Angel considers snapping at the fingers but he behaves, knowing that would just be childish. “Whatever,” he settles on saying before he gets up and walks out of the room.
He spends the rest of the day avoiding everyone.
“At least he’ll stay out of trouble this way,” Vaggie says as she turns the page in her magazine. Angel flips her off and without looking up from the page she’s reading she returns the gesture.
Charlie covers him up with a blanket before declaring, “Luckily we found someone to take care of you while Vaggie and I tend to the others who want to find their inner true selves!”
Angel raises a brow at that.
When Charlie opens the door to his room Angel feels his soul exit his body.
“Oh you poor thing,” Alastor coos as he walks in. “I’ll take good care of you like you took care of me.”
Angel throws himself back into the bed and prays the butterflies in his stomach eat him alive.