Husk felt like his head had been split apart and someone was insistently pounding his brain with multiple tiny hammers, but selectively only on the left side. It was a rhythmical throbbing for one moment, and then erratic pounding for another. He wanted to fucking die.

It had been months since his last migraine, and he had been stupid enough to relax his guard and stop carrying his medicine around wherever he went. Okay, so his dumb decision stemmed mostly from the fact that he had lost multiple ridiculously expensive pills to other demons who had mugged or pick-pocketed him and thought they found something good, but that felt like a really shitty excuse right then.

Of course it didn't end there. If he wasn't a real fucking idiot, he could have still salvaged the situation: his room in the hotel was only a few minutes walk away from the bar and his pill bottle was thus within a perfectly reasonable reach, even when it wasn't on his person. But no. Like a true moron, he had ignored the early signs, chalking them off as simply being tired and not drunk enough.

Fuck damn it, he should know better than that!

Fine, sometimes his vision grayed around the edges when he was spacing out. He could give himself that one.

Okay, sometimes he felt faint if he stood up too quickly and without stretching to get his blood flowing. Not fucking vertigo, though, so fuck him for being stupid.

But he really should have known what was up when he could no longer look at peoples' faces because they were replaced by blindingly white star-shapes. But no, he had simply blinked rapidly and averted his gaze, thinking it would go away if he did that.

It had been the motherfucking jigjag pattern invading his vision that finally clued him in, and that was the point of no return when it came to salvaging the situation anymore. He had immediately closed the bar and rushed into his room as fast as the vertigo and the beginning nausea allowed him to, but it was too late and he fucking knew it. It would take forever for his medicine to start working, and the headache had reared its ugly head to keep him company until it did.

He hated absolutely everything right then, but especially the fact that he could smell every little off thing in the room, such as the spot he had thrown up on the other day and apparently hadn't cleaned well enough – he should have asked Niffty to do it. And the fact that he could hear people talking outside of his fucking room whether he concentrated on it or not, and he couldn't even make out the words to make it more bearable than the fucking buzz it was. And the fact that if he opened his eyes, everything was too bright and colourful despite the lights being off. And lastly, the fact that if he moved the slightest amount, he immediately felt nauseous beyond any hangover he had ever experienced.

The only bearable-ish thing to do was laying on his side, as unmoving as humanly possible, keeping his eyes closed, and waiting for the torture to pass in the relative peace and quiet of his own room.

Of course he couldn't have even that.

"Oh there you are, Husker! I was wondering where you went!"

Of fucking course the loudest, the most talkative, the most sound-effect heavy demon in all of Hell had to appear straight into his room without even thinking about asking for a permission to enter.

"Al. Shut the fuck up. Not a good time", he hissed with a low voice and curled up, ears turning back and a wing moving to protect him from the cruel world of unbearable noise. His headache spiked painfully.

"Ah, did this morning's hangover make an unexpected return?" Alastor asked cheerfully, accompanied by a laugh track. This was followed by the loud clip-clop of his shoes as he approached the bed.

Husk's ears rang and he felt like throwing up.

"Alastor, I swear to fucking God that if you don't either shut the hell up or leave, I will get violent", Husk whined, and curled up tighter, which was probably eating at the credibility of his already very empty threat. He didn't have any fucks to give to details like that, however. "I tolerate your obnoxious, self-centered bullshit most of the time, but not right the fuck now."

The footsteps halted at the edge of his bed, and there was a sound of something being picked up from his nightstand. From the momentary, disproportionally noisy rattling sound he could determine it was his pill bottle.

If Alastor fucking made a comment about drugs, Husk would throw up all over his fine shoes. That was about the only act of revenge he could reliably perform right then, so it would have to do.

For a moment, there was just blessed silence that almost but not quite made his headache more bearable. He could nearly fool himself into thinking that Alastor had actually done as asked and left.

The sudden and thus loud sound of his pill bottle being put back down proved that thought wrong. Then his mattress dipped as an additional weight was added near his head, and he really felt like throwing up. Oh God, make it stop!

He felt Alastor's hand forcibly fold his wing away, not painfully but still against his will, and then his upper half was lifted and he felt so dizzy and nauseous that he lost the ability to keep a track of what was even going on for a moment there. He was pretty sure he gagged a little, but thankfully he couldn't taste vomit by the time he became more aware again.

Speaking of being aware, he noticed two new things: he was laying partially on top of skinny but warm legs, and his scalp was being gently massaged.

Oh.

Ooh, that felt good. Well, relatively, but at this point he would fucking take any non-negative thing.

He shifted slightly to get his shoulders into a more comfortable position, and tilted his head so that Alastor's fingers had less access to the right side of his skull and had to focus on the throbbing left side.

That was even better.

But the best part? Alastor was completely quiet. He wasn't talking, humming, emitting music, or even letting any static noise slip. He was simply sitting there and scratching Husk's head, alleviating his headache instead of making it worse.

Husk had no idea why Alastor was being considerate, nice even. Usually the best he could hope for was for Alastor to not actively make things worse for his own amusement. But he couldn't bring himself to question his good fortune in the state he was in.

He would simply accept it and enjoy it while it lasted.

He lost the track of time completely. His entire world consisted of gentle head scratches, slowly abating headache, and increasing drowsiness.

The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the sound of his own low purring.

ooooo

When Husk woke up who knew how many hours later and mostly headache-free, he was alone. For a moment he wondered if Alastor had even been there or if he had hallucinated the entire thing on top of all the other shit his migraine put him through.

He could have convinced himself of that theory, if it wasn't for the fact that he was covered by a red quilt he didn't own that smelled heavily like Alastor.

...He made a mental note to stock a bottle of Ardbeg Uigeadail at the bar, and keep it reserved for one person alone.

A/N: Why yes, all of my content about these two revolves around Alastor petting Husk. I regret nothing and I happen to think it should be mandatory anyway. No character who is a cat is allowed to go unpetter around me!