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Rosie
Rosie sat comfortably in her chair behind the counter, humming quietly to herself. It’d been a quiet day at the emporium, which, despite what some might have guessed, pleased her. As much as she adored her clients, not seeing them generally meant good news — no problems in need of solving, or husbands in need of cooking.
The bell attached to the emporium door rang out shrilly, pulling her from her train of thought. She glanced up to find Alastor walking inside, his cane tapping against the floorboards and his smile wide as usual.
“Rosie!” he greeted lightly, raising his hand and waving. Rosie stood up from her chair, rushing out from behind the counter.
“Alastor! What can I do for you today?” she asked, pulling him into a hug. After a few moments — longer than he usually tolerated — he stepped away, dusting off his sleeves as though the contact had somehow gotten them dirty. Same old Alastor.
“Oh, I was just out getting some fresh air. Thought I might as well drop in and see how Cannibal Town’s finest is getting along,” he explained, twirling his microphone. Rosie rolled her eyes.
“Now, don’t you go thinking that buttering me up excuses the fact that I haven’t seen you in weeks,” she scolded playfully, pulling on his arm. “I was just about convinced that you’d disappeared again.”
She led him over to the counter, both of them leaning against it. Alastor shook his head.
“Apologies, my dear. I’ve simply been busy with the hotel. Who would have guessed that fending off an extermination would attract so much attention?”
Rosie smiled at his sarcasm, but her grin faded a little as she glanced down at his hand, resting on the counter between them. His knuckles were white, and his fingers tense, as if he was relying on it almost completely for support.
“Well, I suppose that would keep you on your toes,” she agreed, trying to ignore the thought for the time being. However, when she looked back up at his face, she couldn’t help but study his features for other signs of distress, and was further concerned when she found them. His eyes, normally bright and alert, were duller than usual, and his smile seemed almost painful.
“Yes, my dear, it certainly has. But one must live up to their commitments.”
Rosie watched a strange look pass over his face as he spoke, his other hand subtly moving to his stomach. She frowned, deciding that she couldn’t bite her tongue anymore.
“Are you feeling alright, darlin’? You’re looking a bit off,” she asked carefully. Alastor’s face twitched, as though he was startled by the question.
“Off? No, my dear, I’m perfectly fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
“Oh, Alastor, do you really think you can fool me with that? I know a sick little deer when I see one,” Rosie said, shaking her head. She grabbed onto Alastor’s arm firmly, pulling him away from the counter.
“Really, Rosie, I’m quite alright,” he argued, sounding both flustered by her concern and offended at being called a ‘sick little deer’. Rosie kept her grip, pulling him to the curtained doorway at the back of the room.
“I don’t want to hear it, Alastor. I know what you’re like.”
She pulled him through to her kitchen, forcing him to sit down at the dining table. Looking at him sternly, she let go of his arm, slowly stepping away.
“Stay right here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She walked back through to the emporium, crossing the room and flipping the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, before turning the key in the lock. She quickly walked back to the kitchen, where Alastor was still sitting at the table, leaning heavily on his elbow.
“This is all rather unnecessary, my dear,” he insisted, straightening up suddenly as he saw her entering the room. Rosie shook her head, walking to her kitchen sink and opening the cabinet below.
“I see the way you’re making faces, dearie. You can sit there and pretend nothing’s wrong if you want, but that doesn’t change anything,” she said, taking out a bucket and placing it on her kitchen counter. She glanced back at Alastor as she reached to her upper cabinets, his face turned carefully away from her.
“My stomach is a tad upset, but that’s all, I promise you. It’s really nothing to worry about,” he said. Rosie tutted, turning back to the cabinet, rummaging through the shelves. She knew Alastor well enough to know that ‘a tad upset’ was an understatement. The fact that he was admitting to anything at all meant that it had to be something worse than that.
“Don’t go saying that, darlin’. You know I hate it when people don’t keep keep their promises.”
She found the bottle she was looking for, a medicine she thankfully hadn’t needed since the last time Frank had cooked for her. She turned back to Alastor, now facing her again. Even from a few feet away, she could see his brow glistening with sweat.
“Oh, Rosie, I’m insulted. When have I ever broken a promise to—”
He hunched over in his chair as he spoke, clutching his stomach. Rosie took the bucket from the counter and swiftly pressed it into his hands, turning away tactfully as he started to retch and gag.
“You just did,” she said accusingly.
She waited a few moments, until he went quiet, before turning back to him, his face still leaned over the bucket, breathing heavily.
“I’m-I’m most sorry, my dear,” he panted, slowly straightening out and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I must have… eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”
Rosie gave him a look.
“Alastor, you know I don’t believe that for a second. I’ve seen you eat meat that even Frank wouldn’t touch and be fine,” she said. She softened as she saw the way his ears were pressed back against his head, trembling slightly. “You’re sick, darlin’, and you know it.”
Alastor didn’t reply immediately. He stood up from his chair, placing the bucket on the floor.
“I think I should go. Apologies again for that little scene.”
Rosie stepped after him as he made for the door.
“Don’t you move, mister. You’re not going anywhere in this state.”
Alastor stopped in his tracks.
“Really, Rosie, I’m… I’m…”
He suddenly doubled over, retching. Rosie grimaced as he threw up again, the vomit hitting the kitchen floor with a sickening splash.
“Alright, that’s enough,” she said, reaching forwards and grabbing his shoulders, pulling him back to the chair. He slumped against the table as she guided him down, gripping its edge with both hands.
“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, his voice weak. Rosie picked up the bucket from the floor and placed it back in his lap, watching as he immediately leaned over it.
“Shh,” she soothed, rubbing his back gently as he gagged. “You don’t need to be sorry, hon. This happens to everyone sometimes.”
Eventually, Alastor looked up at her, bile dribbling from the corner of his now frowning mouth.
“Not to me,” he uttered, his voice little more than a pained whisper. Rosie pressed her hand to his forehead, finding that, expectedly, he was unusually warm. She slowly gazed down his body, realising that his coat and shirt were both covered in sick.
“Well, it’s your turn now,” she said softly, squeezing his shoulders. “I’ll be back in a moment, darlin’. I’m going to run you a bath.”
She slipped into the hallway adjoining the kitchen, walking down to her bathroom. The room was simple, but comfortable, more than enough for a woman of her needs. The walls were painted a tasteful pink, matching well with the dark tiles, and the tub was larger than typical — perfect for someone of her height, or, certainly, Alastor’s. She plugged the drain and turned the taps carefully, making sure that the water was a suitable temperature before leaving the room, walking to the linen closet in the hallway. She retrieved a spare towel, and, reaching to the back, a long white nightshirt which had once belonged to her first husband. She returned to the bathroom and placed them down on the edge of the sink, before walking back to the kitchen. Alastor was still sitting where she had left him, still holding the bucket tightly whilst staring off into space. Rosie tapped his shoulder gently.
“Alright, Alastor, let’s get you cleaned up,” she urged quietly, coaxing him to stand up. She took his arm as they made their way out of the kitchen, carefully leading him down the hall. She brought him to the sink as they reached the bathroom, making him lean upon it before letting go of him.
“Thank-you,” he mumbled, his eyes dazed. Rosie frowned.
“Can you manage on your own?” she asked worriedly. Slowly, Alastor nodded, shakily starting to shed off his coat.
“Y-Yes,” he stuttered. Still a little wary, Rosie walked to the bathtub, turning off the water. She looked at him one more time as she moved towards the door, wringing her hands together.
“I’ll be right outside, hon, okay? Just holler if you need me.”
Alastor nodded again.
“Thank-you, Rosie.”
She closed the door as she left the room, sighing to herself. Hesitating for a moment, she pulled the spare dining chair from where she kept it further down the hall, drawing it up next to the bathroom door and sitting down. She took a deep breath, resting her hands in her lap. It hurt her to see Alastor like this, so weak, so unlike himself. For every atrocity he had committed, every rumour about him that circulated, he had always been a sweetheart to her, and the sight of him with his ears back, his smile gone, broke her heart. The fact that he was so reluctant to admit to any kind of weakness only made it worse. Either he was afraid of being vulnerable, or simply not used to anybody caring, and both possibilities pulled at her like harp strings.
It was only a few minutes — ten, at the most — before Alastor’s voice broke her from her trance of worry, calling out feebly from behind the bathroom door.
“Rosie?”
She stood from her chair quickly, leaning up against the door.
“Yeah, darlin’? Everything alright?” she called back.
Alastor didn’t reply. Waiting for a moment, Rosie knocked on the door, before pushing it open slowly, giving him the chance to stop her, if he needed to. When no such protest came, she stepped into the room, looking around. Alastor was slumped over the edge of the bathtub, as if he was too weak to hold his own weight anymore. He turned his head up slightly as Rosie entered, his expression utterly exhausted and miserable.
“I… I can’t…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Rosie knelt down by the tub, placing a hand on his back.
“I’m here, sweetheart. You want some help?” she asked softly, rolling up her sleeves as far as she could push them. Alastor nodded slightly.
“Yes…”
Her throat tightening with emotion, Rosie carefully grabbed hold of him, easing him back into a more comfortable position. Alastor closed his eyes as he lay back, his face shining with what she hoped was water, but knew was probably sweat. She reached over to the hook by the faucet and took a clean washcloth, dipping it into the water. Holding Alastor up with her other arm, she gently started wiping him down, starting with his face and neck. His nose twitched as she dabbed around it, the movement clearly involuntary, but strangely adorable nonetheless. Rosie bit her lip, moving on to the rest of his body. Most of his skin was covered with a layer of short fur, the individual hairs collecting small bubbles that fizzed to the surface as she wiped over them. After cleaning off his top half, she stopped, acutely aware of the personal nature of the situation, and that there were lines that she had no right to cross. She ran her hand up to his hair instead, finding his scalp thick with oil and sweat.
“Catch you on a wash day, did I?” she chuckled, trying to keep her tone light despite her worry. Alastor didn’t reply past a soft groan, his lips trembling.
Smiling sympathetically, Rosie managed to shift him further down into the tub, leaning his head into the water. She reached across awkwardly with her free hand, grabbing onto her own bottle of shampoo. Squeezing a dollop directly onto Alastor’s head, she slowly massaged it through his hair, bringing it up to the soft fur of his ears. A subtle, sweet smell filled the air as it lathered, her fingers gliding easily as she carefully worked out knots and tangles. Alastor let out a faint, almost grateful-sounding murmur.
After the considerable effort of getting Alastor out of the tub, dried, and dressed in the nightshirt, Rosie helped him to his feet. With him now leaning on her fully for support, she brought him back out to the hall, leading him slowly to her spare bedroom. She pushed the door open and helped him over to the bed, pulling back the covers before carefully easing him down, helping him settle before pulling the quilt back over him. Brushing a damp lock of hair away from his face, she walked back to the door, looking back at him nervously.
“I’ll be back in just a second, alright, dear?”
Alastor gave the slightest nod, his eyes barely open. Rosie quickly walked back down the hall to the kitchen, crossing straight to the counter and retrieving the bottle of medicine she had left there earlier. Picking up the bucket from the floor with her other hand, she hurried back to Alastor, placing the bucket down on the floor next to the bed. She opened the medicine bottle and poured a dose into the cap, bringing it to Alastor’s mouth.
“Here, Alastor, drink this. It’ll sort you out in no time,” she reassured him, coaxing him until he slowly sipped the liquid. When he was finished, she replaced the cap on the bottle and placed it on the bedside table, sitting herself down on the edge of the bed by his feet. She watched as Alastor blinked several times, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Rosie…” he mumbled. Rosie leaned over and placed her hand on top of his.
“Shh, darlin’, don’t waste your strength. Just sleep now, okay?”
Gazing at her feverishly, Alastor blinked a few more times, before his eyes finally closed for good. Rosie watched him for several long moments, smiling.
“Told you you were a sick little deer,” she whispered, shaking her head.
She sat there for another ten or fifteen minutes, softly stroking Alastor’s hand and whispering words of reassurance. When she was sure he was asleep, she carefully stood up from the bed, leaving the room as quietly as she could and closing the door. Pausing long enough to give a soft sigh, she returned to the kitchen once more, her mind instantly buzzing with things to be done. First, she would need to clean up the mess on the floor, then take care of Alastor’s dirty clothes. Then, she would start on a nice leg-bone soup, her own favourite when feeling sick, in case he was up to eating whenever he woke up.
She rinsed her mop out in the sink, the floor now gleaming and clean. She took a deep breath as she propped it up against the cupboard to dry, wiping a bead of sweat away from her brow. One thing down…
She caught sight of her phone hanging neatly on the wall across from her, a thought crossing her mind. The laundry could wait for a moment. There was something else she needed to do.
Holding the receiver up to her ear, she stared at the handwritten list of numbers she had stuck up next to the phone, carefully turning the rotary around. The line rang several times, before finally clicking to life, a lively, familiar voice greeting her.
“Hazbin Hotel, this is Charlie speaking! What can I do for you?”
Rosie twirled the phone cord around her finger.
“Hey, Charlie, it’s Rosie. Remember me?” she greeted. She heard Charlie gasp excitedly.
“Yes! Rosie! What can I do for…? Uh, Alastor’s not here, actually. We haven’t seen him all day,” she gushed hurriedly. Rosie smiled to herself.
“I know he’s not, hon. That’s why I’m calling,” she said. “He’s here at my place. Poor thing is sick.”
Charlie made a sympathetic noise.
“Sick? Is he okay?! Do you need me to—”
Rosie cut her off, her heart warming at her concern.
“It’s alright, dearie, I’ve got everything under control. He’s resting now. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on so you wouldn’t worry when he doesn’t come home tonight.”
She heard Charlie let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, okay, good,” she breathed. “Thanks for letting us know, Rosie, and, you know, for looking after him.”
Rosie’s smile widened.
“That’s what friends are for, sweetheart,” she said. She paused for a moment. “And thank-you, for caring.”
She hung up the phone, staring around the room. There was still more work to do.
Finally, after an hour, everything was taken care of. Alastor’s clothes were hanging out to dry, and the soup was simmering on the stove. Starting to feel a little tired herself, Rosie took herself back to the spare room, entering quietly. Alastor had shifted around, now laying on his side with his knees curled up to his chest. Her heart aching, Rosie walked over and gently caressed his ears, running her hand through his hair.
“You’re a funny old thing, Alastor.”
To her surprise, Alastor moved slightly at her touch, his eyelids fluttering, but not opening.
“Thank-you… Rosie,” he mumbled.
Smiling, Rosie leaned down and softly kissed his forehead.
“Sleep well, darlin’.”