Your OC Takes Care of the OC Above

Terry awoke in a bed so soft it threatened to swallow him. Xaanik, who had been lurking in the corner of the room like a particularly intimidating floor lamp, noticed him groan quietly and hopped to attention.

“You’re awake?” he sidled over to the bed, “Don’t try to move. It’s only important that you rest now,” Xaanik’s tone was… uncomfortably funereal, “There is nothing more you have to worry about. Just listen to my voice. I am here, and I will make it better.”
The foggy heat of fever dissolved away at the cool touch of Xaanik’s hand draped across the teacher’s forehead. A cool numb settled over him, which was… better, Xaanik hoped.

 “There… It’s alright," The ashfiend’s tone had settled somewhere between a eulogy and the sort of voice someone might use to try and calm a scared pet, "Your pains feel far away as you listen to me. It’s easy to lie here and let the comforting sound of my voice wash away all that once troubled you.” Yes. Psychomancy would make Terry feel better, even if all it could do was mask the symptoms.

He gave the human a comforting smile, which somehow only made the situation even less comfortable.

Xaanik had no idea how to look after someone who’s prognosis wasn’t immediately fatal—his psychopomp schtick would only get him so far. Still, it has his job to help, and help he would.

Hm. What things did people who were going to keep being alive for the foreseeable future need? Xaanik paused for a moment, then hopped up suddenly.
“I’ll be right back,” he droned, slipping out the bedroom door like a last breath.

A few minutes later, he was back, shouldering open the door while holding an array of carefully ferried drinking vessels.
“It’s important for you to keep your fluid intake up,” he intoned, setting a steaming cup of tea down onto the bedside table. He'd made it with honey, and homegrown lemon, which he knew would be good for a sore throat... but whether or not he'd managed to get the ratios of those additives to a palatable balance was another matter entirely.
He set an enormous pitcher of water down beside the tea, so gently the water’s surface didn't so much as ripple.  Finally, an empty glass beside that.
Apparently satisfied with the offering of beverages, he gave Terry another smile, and proffered the tea, "This should help.

“Please let me know if there is anything else you need. I will stay with you until your strength returns.”

"Oh Gods above." Devian stared at the purple-skinned angel-thing on the pavement in front of him.  The former deity narrowed his eyes in thoughtful consideration, gauging the being's size and possible weight compared to his own slender, lithe form. "There is no way I'm going to be able to carry you. Guess I'll have to do it the hard way." Devian crouched down by the male's head, still unsure about what exactly he was planning to take home to nurse back to health. It wasn't in his nature to be caring, but he felt a touch of pity for the winged being, and it had just started to rain pretty hard. Besides, Devian liked to be owed favours. They would come in useful later.

He placed a pale hand on Xaanik's muscular shoulder and teleported to his penthouse. It was a pretty nice place, but as Devian lived alone, his guest would have to sleep on the couch. After long minutes of huffing and puffing, Devian managed to drag the bigger male onto his plush settee, and went in search of a thick blanket or something to keep the guy warm. When he returned, he also brought a bowl of cold water and towels because one touch of Xaanik's forehead confirmed his suspicions of a bad fever. After wringing the cloth out and laying it on his head, Devian looked dubious. His medical knowledge stemmed from bad movies and anime. There was a limit to what he could do, and he hadn't cared for anyone in several thousand years. He felt about as useful as a wet sock. So he did what any normal citizen would. He called his friend, a totally not shady underground doctor. "Hey, Arenti. I have this unconscious angel guy sleeping on my couch and I think he's got a bad fever or something. What the hell should I do? Also, his teeth are super scary. Can you come over and help?"

Aldrik flinched in surprise when he saw the raven haired man laying on the ground. As he approached for a closer look, he noticed that Devian was soaked in sweat. "Dear lord..." He mumbled to himself as he helped the man up. Although Aldrik appeared calm on the outside, he was panicking internally. 'What should I do? I never took care of a person before..!' He thought while pulling a blanket over Devian after placing him on the bed. The werewolf hurriedly brought wet towels in hopes of bringing down his fever and made him a bowl of soup. Aldrik sighed in relief as Devian's facial expression began to relax. "This should be good enough." Of course, he didn't leave his side until the man waa fully cured.

Three cockatoos perched on the headboard of the bed Aldrik rested on, all of them watching him warily. One leaned down, the others goading him to keep going, but right before he could bite the wolf ears, Cecil came inside, making the three quickly straighten up. The cop walked over to the bet and pressed the back of his hand to the young man's forehead. Still hot. He sighed and set a cold water bottle down on the bedside drawer.
Early today during his patrol he had come across the young man slumped against the corner of the street. Naturally, Cecil thought he was just some drunk kid passed out from a night of partying - especially with those wolf ears - and kicked the bum awake... only for the guy to hack and wheeze then fall again. Bum or not, the officer had an obligation to help, so he took him to his house to rest and later interrogate.
... But how were those wolf ears moving...?

A gentle breeze flowed into the inn room through an open window,   softly  caressing the face of the sleeping blond on the bed. His hair   was  brushed aside slightly, revealing the strained face of the  sleeping  man.  Even as he rested beneath a few layers of bedcovers and  blankets,  he  seemed to toss and turn in discomfort. The window  curtains blew  wide  open with another gust of wind, and now the bedroom  door opened  slowly  with a creak. 

With a tentative step into  the room, Renne  glanced at the resting form of the man on the bed and  grimaced as she  watched him. With a metal tray in one hand, she  carefully stepped  towards him and crouched down, placing the tray down.  With a long sigh  she took a small wet towel, which smelled of herbs,  from the metallic  surface and gently placed it against the man's  forehead. Once that was  done, the young woman took two uniquely shaped  leaves and slowly dipped  them into an ornate while bowl of steaming hot  water. 

"I'm glad I  learned a little bit from her about this  sort of thing." Renne murmured  softly as she then placed the leaves on  the sleeping man's chest, just  under his chin. The leaves, which were  actually a special type of herb,  gave off a smell that would then work  to reduce fevers in people. At  least, that's what she had learned. The  young noble didn't actually  understand the specifics of how it worked,  just what it actually did. While she waited for results, Renne thought  back to how this situation had came to be in the first place. 

She  had seem this man staggering in the streets, haphazardly going from  left to right and bumping into people. At first upon seeing this, Renne  had thought the man was merely drunk, but it wasn't long until he had  simple crumpled to his knees and fell over. While some of the people in  town had panicked, her initial reaction was to rush by and see what the problem was. Fortunately, it seemed to be just a mild fever. Of course,  from the occasional grumbling of the man's stomach, Renne also figured  it was hunger as well. With a soft chuckle, she rose to her feet with  the metal tray in hand, and strode back out of the room.

It was a detour from her actual work, but she wasn't just going to let any person suffer. Even if they weren't from her nation.

Oh no, how had she gotten herself into this mess? Finni stood by the couch, wringing her hands nervously. Her home was small and quaint, fit for somebody like her but definitely not fit for a princess. A princess! Actual royalty, here, in her house! And with a nasty flu! And... Finni had decided to put her on the couch. It seemed like a better idea than the water bed, but inside she was shrieking at herself. A couch was certainly no place for a princess, sick or not!

"Um..." Finni took a deep breath. "I-I've got some stew on the stove. Th-th-that should help with the flu! Oh, m-maybe I could make you some tea? I-I've got that, too." Oh no, this was a disaster. "I-I-I'm sorry, I'm not really used t-to, um... If I'd known I'd come across..."

She was going to be arrested. Or executed. Or whatever it was royalty did to peasants who didn't appease them. Finni fled to the kitchen without another word and hurried to put some tea on. Renne hadn't said a single unkind word to her, but she couldn't help but be anxious anyway. What if she couldn't help this foreign princess get better?

Or... What if she could? What if Renne repaid her help with kindness of her own? And she was so pretty, too...

Finni tried to chase the thoughts out of her head as she left the kettle to tend to the stew. She wasn't about to set foot back in the living room until her cheeks stopped burning.

"Ah by the void and its many Devils!," Roswell cried out. As he stared at the unconcious woman on his pavement. How dare she to fall a sleep right here, right in front of his house? Didn't she know how much Roswell payed every month, for a clear view and a hint of sea-air?   She wasn't sick roight? Cold sweat manifested itself on Roswell's back. As that tought crawled inside his mind, and made itself at home as a hungry parasite. Feeding itself on the thief biggest fear.

Roswell shivered, closed his eye and forcessed himself to take a big gulp of fresh air. Yer can not leave 'er 'ere, he reminded himself. it 'ill atract other sick people.

"Roight, missy" he said as he somewhat clumsly lifted her in his arm, shivering even more as he did so.. "Yer are not an example gran', tell yer .. il- ill l-lads or whatever dat dis is an exapshun" His voice sounded as if throat was being strangled, and was not intimidating at all. 

He then carried her inside his crooked house and layed her on a old dusty Seat. Placing an even dustier blanked over her shoulders. "You have to take of yer shoes," he instructed the sleeping old god from another realm, where mortals can only dream off, "i just cleaned the floor."

With a grunt, Father Priest tossed Roswell off his shoulders and onto the bed. They were at the house next to the church; the priest had been in the middle of patrolling the area to make sure hoodlums didn't mess with his most holy flowers, when he noticed the man stumbling around the parking lot. Originally the priest believed him to be a drunk heathen, and was on his way to smack him with the bible when the man collapsed. He was sweating, yet shivering at the same time. Sick. Be him a sinner or a saint, Father Priest had a responsibility over him, so he picked the man up, him resting on his shoulders, and heaved him (with great difficulty) to the house.
There was definitely a mystery to him, Father Priest noted as he eyed the man's eye patch, and his outfit. Perhaps he would get answers when he wakes up, and perhaps the man will be grateful enough to thank the Lord. Father Priest took the man's shoes off so mud wouldn't get on the bed covers, then left for the kitchen, where he'd get a glass of water and medicine for the man.

A girl and a strange floating creature were arguing over something in russian near the girl's couch where a sick-looking man was lying. "...And that's why you should tidy your room up at least once a week! And now! Look at this! What are we going to say to this fine man when he wakes up?! I'm so ashamed of you right now, so ashamed!" The creature was nervously floating around the room: approaching a mountian of dirty clothes, then flying closer to the priest, then getting closer to the empty beer cans and cigarette stubs near the window and then floating towards Tanya again, "Argh! Could you shut the fuck up for a fuckin' second? I'm trying to think here if you didn't notice!" The girl said angrily while taring at the unconscious man on her bed, "He is ill..." She said being seemingly camer than a few seconds ago, "Oh so you noticed?! I'm surprised that you have finally come to this conclusion, but we have to help him somehow!" Said Flan losing his temper. "Fuck! How are you planning to do it?!...Maybe we should give him beer?", the firl glanced and the empty cans with a sparkle of hope in her eyes. "Are you crazy or yes? Beer is the last thing you shouldgive a sick person!" Flan was so done with this situation, so fluffing done! At first he had to make this stubborn girl to bring the man home and now she didn't want to do anything to help him at all! And not to mention this complete mess! When was the last time she cleaned her room up?! But that wasn't the time to waste time on thoughts now! He had to make some actions instead! "Okay! Look over him while i'll go and buy some medicines to help him...and don't give him beer! Tho i highly doubt there is still some of it left..." After saying that the creature flew out the window not giving the girl a chance to respond. "Fuck! Just great! And what am i supossed to do now?! Ugh i fuckin' hate my life.." She sat on the floor near the couch waiting for Flan to return.

(so basically Flan would do everything while Tanya would just sit somewhere and look at it not making any attempts to help. they were talking in russian btw! but that would be problematic to understand what ishappening if i wrote them in it xD)

After a fight, César always liked to have a time to himself. He took a shower and put some nice clothes so he could take a walk and go buy something to drink. It was his self care time all by himself, that got interrupted by a girl laying down on a wall in the street, with some bear cans on her side. Usually César would ignore since he prefers minding his own business, but his mind got a little anxious with the idea of "...Is she alive? Should I go do something?"

He then approached the girl and poked her once. Then twice. He kept poking the girl, until she woke up and mumbled something in russian in a really bad mood. César didn't get it, and he was already not good communicating with people, now with someone who doesn't speak his language? That would make things way harder. He knew she wasn't feeling good, so he picked his water bottle he brought with him and gave it to her. She took some time to understand that it was for her to drink, mostly because a stranger were giving her something to drink and that sounded dangers, but also because he didn't speak anything at all. César tried his best to read her lips, but it was really hard.

He then tried to see if she had any document with her, or a celphone at least so she could call home. Since he didn't found anything, César picked his wallet and left some money for the girl pick a cab and go home. He left a note to her saying "It's really dangerous to stay like this in the streets. Some people may take advantage and be mean. Please take this money to go home!"

"Uh..."
Terry scratched his cheek as he stared at the... well, non-human bent over in front of him, struggling to stay conscious. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening- was this a common cold? Maybe a virus? Something only something like the non-human could get? The kangaroo would make strange symbols with his hands, something the teacher recognized as sign language, yet couldn't understand. Pursing his lips, Terry gently set a hand on Cesar's back. "Let's get you to my house," he murmured while walking him to his car. "We'll see if some medicine and food helps while I Google what the hell to do."

'I was told specifically not to intervene...'

Tremor sat crouched in the shadow of a building, his wings gripping the rooftop and his tail curled tight around his legs. He watched a human leave and stumble across the sidewalk, maybe drunk? What was with humans and alcohol? He cringed. The very thought of it made him nauseous. 

The man stumbled again, then started to fall. Tremor's wing snapped out and caught him. 

He couldn't be seen, there were rules! He melted down into a human form and slid an arm around his acquaintance's shoulders before the man could notice that anything unusual had happened. 

"Hey! Are you alright? You almost fell there, do ah... do you need some help? Oh, you don't look so good. Would you like me to walk you to the hospital? It's right around the corner. Not a long walk at all. No? Okay, well at least let me help you get a taxi, no one should be walking around at night alone, and especially not sick."