Day 12: Migraine

“Is the fucking ibuprofen not working?” Oasis read the label for the fifth time. “Pretty sure it should be working by now.”

“Could you just,” Spencer grimaced, sitting on the other end of the couch, head in his hands, “keep it down?”

“Wha- Oh. Oh yeah, sure.” Oasis genuinely didn’t notice how loud he was being until then. He stopped messing with the pill bottle, leaning back on the cushions. “Want me to leave?” he asked, making a solid attempt at lowering his voice. 

Spencer’s small shake of his head was barely noticed, but it still made his head hurt worse. With every heartbeat, the band squeezed around his head throbbed. He tried to focus on his breathing, he really did, but the pain was just too intense. Normally his migraines didn’t get this bad. And the fact that the headache pills weren’t working was a bad sign. He could do nothing but grab at his head and wait for the drill inside it to go away. 

Day 11: High Fever

Oasis coughed, tossing off the blanket that he had melted into a few minutes ago when he was freezing. Eyes glassy, his gaze wandered aimlessly around. How had it got so fucking hot? And where was Spencer? Did he finally get sick of his bullshit and leave? “Spence-” He broke off with another harsh cough, sitting up in the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Yeah?” Apparently Spencer was still here. That was good, at least. His door opened a crack. “You look horrible.”

“Yeah, well,” Oasis cleared his throat, “at least I don’t have your face.”

“Are you okay?” Ignoring his insult, just as he always did, Spencer came around the bed with a thermometer. 

“Yup! Shit dude, I feel amazing! Totally didn’t just cough up blood earlier or anything.”

“You… what?” Spencer looked even more concerned.

“Huh? The fuck did I say?” Oasis’s eyes went glassy again, his face tinted even more pink than before.

“You’re slurring your words.”

“Thank you. It’s all the drugs.”

“Okay, now you’re not even making any sense. Here.” Spencer handed Oasis the thermometer, which he promptly dropped on the bed. Sighing, Spencer picked it up and stuck it in Oasis’s mouth for him. “Keep it there.”

“Mm?” The time it took for Oasis to realize what was happening was also the time it took for the thermometer to be done taking his temperature. 

Spencer checked the display. “104. That’s not good. Well, at least it’s breaking. You wanna sleep? Oasis?” By the time he glanced back at his friend, the angel was already sound asleep under the covers.

Day 5: Animal Attack

A growl and a sharp bark made Oasis look across the street. At first, he just thought it was a dog, shaking a dead rabbit or something. But as he looked closer, he realized it was a lot larger. As he furrowed his brow and made his way toward it, he realized it was Spencer.

“Hey, get the fuck away from him, little shit!” He yelled over the dog’s growling. It did nothing to stop the dog from latching onto Spencer’s shirt and shaking it violently. There were flecks of blood on his black hair, and his glasses were thrown to the side a few feet away. “What’s your problem, mutt?” Oasis clumsily aimed a kick at the dog, landing it just as it lunged at Spencer. The dog’s head snapped to the side, finally releasing his grip on Spencer’s shirt, but not without ripping it. “Yeah, there you go. Fuck off!” Oasis grabbed the scruff of its neck and yanked it away from Spencer, not caring that the dog’s slobbering jowls were now inches away from him. “You okay, Spence?” he yelled back to his friend, lying on the pavement.

Spencer coughed, dragging himself into something resembling sitting. Blood ran down the front of his shirt, which was ripped in several spots. “No,” came the needless reply. 

Oasis sauntered into the crowded bar, returning the stares from turned heads. He pulled his halo off of his head and flicked it around his finger a few times, finally letting it return to its place, hovering a few inches above his hair. He took a seat on one of the falling-apart stools and turned to face the tired bartender, an old woman he probably had seen before but had forgotten. “One, uh, I don’t fuckin’ know, anything. Make it the strong shit. I’m planning to drink ‘till I black the fuck out.” The woman just sighed and started on his drink. 

The angel drummed his fingers on the table, scanning the room. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around abruptly, staring up into the stranger’s cold brown eyes. “Oh come on, what the fuck do you want?” Oasis said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Can’t a person just have a simple drink without getting bothered?” The man said nothing, just furrowed his brow slightly and backed away. 

“Your drink, sir.” The woman pushed a cup over to him, and Oasis gulped it down, slapping a few bills on the counter to pay. He got up and looked around for the strange man, but he was nowhere to be seen, so Oasis sat back down and finished his drink. He looked at the man next to him, who seemed to be staring at him. “The fuck you lookin’ at?” Oasis hoped his voice carried through the noise of the crowd. “You’re not special, it happens all the time.” 

“Uh, I think someone messed with your drink,” he said, his expression cautious. “Shit.” Oasis whirled around, trying to spot anyone, but all the faces blurred together, all the different conversations swirled and mixed together in his head. He lifted his head off of the table-- when did he put his head down?-- and shut his eyes. Even the dim lighting of the bar was too much. “Need to fuckin… uh, get outta here.” He pushed himself up with two hands on the rough counter, the world spinning around him. He staggered, his wings fluttering uselessly, gripping the counter harder. Which way was the door again?” 

“Here, let me.” The man slid and arm around Oasis’s shoulders, and he ducked away, almost falling in the process. “Get your fucking hands offa me, piece of shit,” he growled. The doors loomed up ahead of him, and he shoved someone out of the way to get to it. He collapsed against the doors, hitting his head on the handle, and everything went black. 

He was flying. The wind rushing past him, he opened his wings wider, soaring through the sky. 

He was flying. The angel gained speed, rushing downwards, going faster, and faster, scanning the ground to find a good landing spot. 

The bang of a gun rang out, and Oasis tumbled from the sky, landing on the ground with a thud. It wasn’t until he noticed the patch of red growing on the ground that he realized that the bullet hit him. But he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Is that all you got? One tiny bullet? You think that’s gonna do shit to me?” He turned to see three men emerge from behind a tree, and the movement made the pain in his wing spike. The men said nothing, but silently continued on their beeline toward him. He pushed himself up with blood-spattered hands, wincing at the way his wing unfolded under him. Oasis would have called the men every curse in the book, but he was too focused on ignoring the stabbing pain.

Unable to use his wings, he broke into a run, attempting to escape the people. He wasn’t fast enough. A net covered his body, digging into his skin. He scrabbled at the ropes, but they were tightening around him and pulling him away. 

“Fucking let me go!”

His body bounced along the dirt, hitting every rock possible in his path. His wings flapped hard against the pressure, but the ropes were unrelenting, and Oasis was dragged away, yelling at his captors, who stayed completely silent throughout the whole ordeal.