Your OC Takes Care of the OC Above

"Oh, you poor, pitiful pile of shit."

How nice!

Nerine stared down at Terry, more judging than concerned. "This is what you get for eating and drinking nothing but garbage, you know."  she told him, "You end up all lethargic and sad and gross. I just have to ask if you have anemia at this point, just something like that. I knew a person like that way back then. Just all around weak and all of that shit, all because she didn't eat proper. Or much at all. But you just don't eat proper, do you? Just desserts?"

Nerine stepped around the couch where Terry laid, sprawled out over the cushion. At this time of day, after school, the classroom was quiet. She was a little concerned that she had gone to completely the wrong building, but it was okay. It was just whatever! Who cares.

"What you need is some water in you. Some proper food." she said, "I won't be taking 'no' for an answer. Can't teach if you're sick all the time, you know? Eugh... Kids are so disgusting, though. I don't even know how you manage. Oh, wait." She slumped onto the sofa like she owned it, sitting her ass right down on Terry's legs. "But, seriously, this is no joke. You want some steak and how do you want it? Or some salmon? I don't know what they're selling here. I glanced at it and it all kind of looks like slop, but slop's gotta be a little healthy, right?"

"Please try and sit up straight," Xander said. "The sitting position would help improve your breathing. Or so I've heard." He'd placed his chair near Nerine's bed. A worried expression crossed his face as he stared at the knight. "How are you feeling? With the cold, madam? Are you feeling any better?"
The revolution was no place for any human, in Xander's humble opinion, let alone a sick one, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he fumbled with the hat he'd placed on his lap. "Are they treating you alright here, miss? Ah," the fidgeting with his hat stopped briefly. "I got something with me. I do hope it makes you feel better." He eyed her. Then his hat, back to her and gently placed his hat on Nerine's bed to make room on his lap for his bag. "I've got you a bottle of Koortsremmers. Its liverwort syrup madam. I'm not sure if they serve it here, but it's a very well known medicine in Drakenburg." Xander let out a breathy laugh. "We use it for almost everything. A cold? Koorstremmers. Acne.. You've guested it, madam koortsremmers." He smiled, made a half bow and placed the bottle beside her bed.  "Ah! But that's not the best. No. I've got these too. I do think these are masterpieces, but madam, I'd let you be the judge of that." Xander took out some low quality drawings out of his bag and showed them to her.
"Sophia's children made them for you. After they found out that you got ill. Or so I've been told," Xander smiled as he swapped the drawings with his hat. "I do hope these are made by children or at least teens… Young adults. Afin." Xander made a hand gesture.
"It does not matter. As long as it wasn't an adult that drew you these. Otherwise, that adult seriously need some painting lessons." His hand gesture stopped. "Oh-," pause. "What I wanted to say is that these people... Ah. They do seem to really care about you."

--
Sweat beaded on his forehead and his hands gently shook. Xander stared mindlessly at the cup of tea he held between his shaking fingers. He'd been sitting like this for hours now. Xander's muscles ached. The corners of his mouth drooped and his shoulders hang. "Oh," he told you with a watery voice. "Ah, don't be alarmed. I just got a fever."

--

 This is so cute though 😭😭

Wraith's nose twitched slightly, there was an unusual scent in the air, one of disease. He frowned and turned his head towards Xander and took a tentative step forward, noticing that the smell had gotten strong. As if on cue, Xander tried his best to reassure the shifter, however, the announcement of the other having a fever as well as his physical condition only deepened Wraiths concern. Giving a shake of his head, Wraith approached Xander and gently took the cup of tea from his shaking hands and placed it on the side. "It won't do you any good just sitting here straining your back." He said gruffly. "Can you stand?" 

The scarred male watched as Xander slowly stood up, noticing the shakiness of the others legs as the fever had robbed him of his stability. Gently, Wraith placed a hand on Xanders shoulder to help stabilise him. Thinking for a few seconds, Wraith reckoned that even the short trip to the others bedroom may be too much exertion for a body battling a fever. Making a decision, Wraith picked Xander up and took him to his room. After, Wraith turned to walk back out the door, before pausing and turning back to his companion. "Lie down and stay put" He ordered before leaving, returning not long after with a rag and a bowl of water before placing it on the side. Seemingly pretty set on making sure Xander didn't make his fight with the fever any worse, Wraith opened the window in the room slightly, enough to let a cool breeze in, but not enough to freeze the room. The shapeshifter then sat down on a chair and placed the rag in the water and squeezed out the excess water; remembering how Thorn did this for him a few times in the past, before placing it on Xanders forehead.

"Get some rest, I'll wake you when I figure out how to get you some food." Wraith said, giving the other a look which clearly said he would not tolerate any objections.

(Not the best bedside manner, but he's trying.)

-------------------------------------------------------

Wraith wasn't entirely sure he was going the right way, his vision was blurry, his world spun around him and every step made his whole body feel like lead. This wasn't a virus, instead a condition that affected shapeshifters, a stress illness one could say. His face was pale and drenched in sweat as his body shivered uncontrollably. His body decided to lose all strength in it's legs as he half collapsed against somebody who had been passing by. Wraith looked at them with weak and glazed over eyes, his throat voicing a weak apology, right now the scarred male just wanted a place to sleep. 

Kolja gently tugs the blanket higher over Oliver's body. It isn't particularly cold here-- at least, compared to what he's used to-- but a warm blanket is a comforting thing to him. Besides, he said he caught the cold! So he must be too cold!! That's what what makes sense. He grabbed a second blanket.

"Do try to take some rest, friend," he says. "I'll go to make my mother's recipe for soup of seal fat! Um. If I can find seal..."

He reminds himself, a bit sheepishly, that this world is different than his own. Oliver explaining video games and cars and stuff made his head spin. Plus... this is the first demon (or partial demon) he has met that hasn't immediately tried to kill him. Demons in his world are vicious, bloodthirsty creatures... but Oliver is nice. He likes the peace. Even if part of him is itching for some good combat.

He tosses the second blanket over him. "Stay warm! And sleep. I will find /something/ to make! And you will be eating well and getting better and then you can tell me more of the Mario man and his mushroom friends."

He gives Oliver's head a gentle pat-- the same thing his father would have done for him-- and scampers off to the kitchen. Considering Kolja has no idea how to work an oven, stovetop, or microwave, Oliver is sure to wake up to a surprise.

Aiken nudged the door open with his elbow and stuck his head through gingerly. In the dim light of the potion store's back room, Kolja sat with his knees to his chest upon a rickety wooden chair, shivering. He'd arrived to the village that way, he'd been travelling for days by the looks of it, and seemed dreadfully ill. By the time he'd entered the potion store, in fact, he could hardly stand on his own two feet, and opted to shakily lean against the door as he shuffled inside. Dismayed he'd muttered about ice and angels and other incoherent fragments of conversation, though the conclusion was that he'd found himself lost by his travelling companions. 

Being familiar with such a situation, Aiken offered for him to stay and rest. He probably wasn't supposed to do that, but what else was he supposed to do? Turning away a stranger when there were healing materials aplenty on-site seemed just plain cruel, even if healing magic wasn't quite his expertise. Awkwardly he stepped inside, placing an odd handful of vials down on the counter beside the cauldron. One of them, a rosy pink in hue and hypnotically shimmery against the warm candlelight, he handed to Kolja. 

"Mr...Adelwulf, was it? This may make you feel better...it'll bring down your fever a bit at least." He mumbled, "You may have it free of charge as long as you don't tell my boss...I haven't the best record as an employee, though i'd hate to lose my job...I'm afraid in this town i'll have no luck finding another one." 

The store's funds were stretched thin and he'd surely be in trouble if he was found out to be handing out potions for free. Nonetheless he slipped the vial into Kolja's shaky grasp and lit the fire in hopes to warm him. 

"Please, stay as long as you'd like. I'll be here if there's anything you need." 

(manual bump bc i'd really like to revisit this thread with a different character but i still gotta wait)

Maribelle was not used to other teenagers. Still. She hated the ones on the base, and when she was tasked with caring for a newcomer, she was no doubt vexed by the situation. She was not entirely sure what the problem was, save for that this stranger was feverish and might not survive without the proper care. Besides, maybe his potions would be useful to her. And them.

When it came to that Aiken was slightly better -- after an examination and some patience that Maribelle might have called strenuous for herself to undergo -- she still had him rest. The medical wing was busy at this time of the day, groaning and defeated and dying men all around, so she had continuously brought in to assist the few doctors. While her superiors worked, she tended to the young man, a nurse with barely any bedside manner left to offer save for what minimum was expected of her. That minimum was a tray, a glass of water, a piece of toast, and painkillers.

"They said you were apart of another group." Maribelle droned out, looking down at Aiken as she spoke, "They said you were too weak to compete with the rest of them. If that's the truth, you won't be finding any safety here. Not for long, not once you're actually well enough to walk around." Though her words were cold, there was a sense of frankness to them. She needed him to know. "You will be expected to pay us back in some way. The general offered you this safety out of the kindness of his heart, but he'll be wanting back."

..Truth was, though, that Maribelle preferred this. She preferred being in the medical wing rather than out in the courtyard with the healthier men. If one could even call them healthy.

"Here." she sighed, "Take your medicine, rest for a couple more hours, and I'll get back to you to see what all you need to do. Your knowledge might be sought after. That's all that we require in turn, really. I can even forage for ingredients, if need be."

Danny saw a man twice his age, lying on the street in the middle of the night. He ran to the man and check on him see if he's okay or not. "Cheese and rice, are you okay sir?" Danny ask the man but didn't responds so he's try to check his pulse or his forehead whenever he's okay or not. Thankfully he's fine because he's just had a fever...a terrible fever. "Don't worry, I'll take you to my house" Danny carry the man with his strength since he's very strong, and take him to his house. Few minutes later, they have arrived to Danny's home and Danny immediantly put Charles on his sofa. Danny close the door, take off his jacket and get a blanket, cooling pad, and a medicine. He gave Charles a extra large blanket, placing a cooling pad on his forehead, and some fever medicine with a glass of water. Danny gives a huge relief and saying "So um, if you need anything, let me know and make yourself home. I mean by "make yourself home", don't kick me out because this is my house" Danny gives a little laugh. "I'll make you some soup so don't go anywhere okay?" Danny headed to the kitchen and make Charles a soup.

DanishTheMenace [Note: I am using Celsius!!]

To say Tom did not know how to take care of people would be an understatement. He'd never been really good at comforting others, and generally did not care very much about how they were doing. But at least he knew how to treat a cold. At the moment, that would have to suffice for Danny.

It had been a while since he last checked up on Danny. Casually, he opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. Surely enough there he was, lying on the bed with his IPad dangerously resting upon his stomach, only slightly supported by one hand while the other scribbled vaguely upon the screen. It seemed he'd had the strength to get up to grab the device, so that should mean he was feeling better? Tom had to admit he admired the artist's dedication to his work. He recalled Dan having told him he had a commission due in 3 days. That must have been a really hard deadline, because last time he checked up on Dan the guy looked like shit. He was sprawled on his bed, eyes red and puffy, draped in wet towels and cold compresses with beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Tom wondered if his eyes didn't hurt staring at that screen for so long. Oh well, if Dan was willing to put up with that kind of pain, who was he to stop him?

Taking care not to destabilize the illustrator's wrist, he plucked the thermometer out from under his armpit. 38 degrees, it read. Could be worse.
Tom supposed he should still probably check if he had any fever medication. Just in case. Without saying a word, he wandered out of the room.

A short moment later, he paced back inside carrying a small and dusty box.
"I have aspirin. Oh wait." Turning the box around, he checked the expiration date. It had gone bad about 2 years ago. "Nevermind."

He'd just get the man a glass of water then, and maybe some more cold compresses. Tossing the sad cardboard container into the trash, he turned around and made his way to the kitchen. "I'm gonna grab you some water, if you want anything to eat just ask."

NP: If you would like a prompt, there is a non 0 chance that Tom may catch an infection whilst shapeshifting. 

Banter chittered unhappily, wringing the leather handle of their bag as if they intended to strangle it. In reality, they were trying to get back to camp as quickly as they could. As one of the few doctors in the area who was on call for travel, they were away from their tent when someone told them who had been dropped off at their tent. The messenger hadn't given them much in the way of an explanation, only that it was bad and that they were needed right away. It would've been nice to know more but they were far past that by now. They can see the canvas of their tent up ahead and they heave a sigh. Not enough relief to slow their pace, as they run to the door and almost tear the canvas, opening the tent wide.

Their temporary living quarters are well kept and clean, with a sectioned-off area in the back for an "office" and what could barely be called a bedroom, while the rest of the medical tent had an area that seemed to be where the rest of their tools were kept and at least four cots spread out with light probably easy to tear. Tom had likely found a place on one of these cots, a little worn, but nicer than a military medical cot with a plush pillow and blankets. Banter is quick to set their bag down, and hustle over to the sanitary station, where they can be heard washing their hands for a moment before turning to Tom with a worried smile.

"H-Hello! I'm terribly sorry I wasn't quicker, I was in town helping with another patient. You're the sick one they brought in?" Banter steps closer, squinting as they draw near before they shake their head with a nervous laugh. "What am I saying?! Of course, you are! There's no one else here, haha! Alright, then let's see the damage then." The doctor pulls a rolling stool near and sits on it, tugging along a small rollable desk with them, which rattles a little from age. They throw a mask over their face when Tom coughs, though it doesn't hide the concern on their face. A thermometer is pulled out and they're quick to place it in the other's mouth, perhaps chittering irritatedly if Tom initially declined. While they wait, Banter is quick to do a quick check-up across the man's body, checking his eyes, his ears, making sure that there wasn't something they were missing. They hum and ha as they go, occasionally pausing to jot something down on a notepad before continuing. The thermometer shows what they already expected and they tut worriedly. 

"My, my that's a little high, isn't it." They mutter to themselves, standing and gesturing for Tom to sit up. "You've been coughing this whole time, would you mind if I listened for your breathing, sir." They'd wait until Tom sits up, before pulling out a curious stethoscope, one they quickly attach to their antennae before pressing it to the man's back and instructing him to breathe. 

Immediately, they furrow their brow, looking suddenly uneasy. They move to another spot. They chitter nervously at what they hear. This goes on for a few more moments before Tom could likely hear Banter unhook the stethoscope and set it on the desk, their voice chittering and anxious under their breath as they step away, moving to a makeshift cabinet that appears to be full of medicines, and they're quick to procure a bottle of something and after filling up a glass of water they return, handing Tom a glass of water. 

"I'm giving you an expectorant to clear the gunk out of your lungs, and I'll set you up with an antibiotic to stave of infection." They say flatly, setting a small tray with a few pills on the bedside table, before they look at Tom again, their antennae flicking towards him, their mandibles moving about nervously. "I've... You're like no human I've treated before. It's very concerning to me. Do you... know anything about that, sir?"

''Hey, you alright bud?'' Nathan's voice was soft and gentle, almost motherly in a way. He sat down next to Ren - a shivering, crying mess.

''You're havin' one of them episodes, huh? It's ok, I'll sit here for as long as you'd like me to. You can even hug me if you think that'll help, but if it'll make the sens'ry overload worse then don't stress about that.'' He leaned forwards, looking at Ren with a sad smile.

''You'll be alright darlin', I'm right here with ya.''

(when nathan's sick he usually gets one of his bad migraines too - blessed be the old head injury :''0)

"...'Aye, old man... You alright...?"

Nathan's groggily opened his eyes to see some... Cat-person. The person in question wibbles his ears about and flicks his tail in interest once the bounty hunter's awoken.

"Found 'ye face-first on the pub floor a few hours back... 'Yer face doesn't have a speck'a red in it, though, what's the deal? Are 'ye hungover, or..."

He backs away, having been spooked by something snappy Nathan had done within his migraine-induced pain. "Cor...! Hell's gotten into you...?" Retorts Saiph, raising a brow. However, he soon notices how Nathan rubs at his forehead; surely, he was experiencing quite the migraine, for one reason or another. Saiph was no stranger to a terrible one, either.

"...A-Ah, that, is it..." He clicked his tongue. "'Ye stay where 'ye are, old man; we don't need 'ye troublin' others and 'yerself over that. I'll get 'ye an ice pack and whatever else 'ye feel 'ye need... So long as 'yer not robbin' me, over here. Got it...?"

(saiph can get sick rather easily sometimes but tries to keep going so if you're going that route over him being hurt good luck)