Handall Oneshots Book

Sick Wolfy

Hamish sniffled as he put the drinks back where they go. His nose still red from being runny and him having to constantly blow it. Hamish knew what this was. He was sick.

He wiped his nose again. His eyes were most likely red from his continuous yawning and rubbing at them. He had been alone that day since everyone was doing something and he had nothing to do but study and read. Maybe do and learn some magic.

He was tired, but he knew he couldn't go to sleep this early. It was only 3:00 PM. He had work and studying to do anyway.

He heard the front door open and quiet, yet energetic footsteps race towards him. Randall. Shit. He can't know I'm sick. All hell will break loose.

He kept his back turned towards Randall and made his voice clear and un-nasally.

"Drink?" Hamish said thankfully clearly.

"Yeah!" Randall responded.

He heard Randall sit on the counter of the bar and heard his feet hit the wood of it as he swung his legs.

He truthfully was so sick he couldn't remember what to mix with what. And he wasn't about to take a chance, so he just made a simple glass of bourbon.

He was about to give Randall his drink when he realized he would have to turn around and show Randall his red, stuffy face. He decided to turn around lightning fast and set the drink down and go back to normal.

"Whoa, slow down there, Hamster," Randall said with slight suspicion in his voice.

"Sorry," Hamish said, trying to figure out how to prevent Randall from finding out.

"Ok, now I know there's something wrong. You didn't even give me a disappointed look when I called you one of my nicknames for you, and you fixed me a glass of just bourbon. You didn't even mix Coke or anything with it. What's going on?"

Hamish inwardly groaned as he realized his mistake.

"There's nothing wrong. What are you talking about?" Hamish said defensively. His back still facing Randall.

Randall sneezed and said, "Sorry, me and Greybeard are allergic to bullshit,"

Hamish got right into Randall's face and snarled. Randall cowered a bit before he saw Hamish's face. His eyes slanted in anger and jaw set in determination.

"You're sick, aren't you?" Randall seethed.

Hamish reluctantly nodded and sniffles again.

"Come here, let me see how bad it is," Randall said beckoning him over.

Hamish walked around the bar and to him.

Randall grabbed his cheeks with his hands and inspected Hamish's face, twisting and turning it to see where the areas were most red.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Randall said after his ocular pat down.

"I just didn't want to worry anybody," Hamish muttered.

"This is your health we're talking about here! It needs to be taken seriously!" Randall whined as he pulled Hamish to his bedroom. He took off Hamish's socks and shoes, along with his jacket. He motioned for Hamish to lay down.

Hamish was about to speak before Randall clasped his hand over his mouth and raised his eyebrows in warning.

Hamish wisely backed off. He laid down and winced since his back hurt. Randall shook his head at him and got him a towel for his head. He gently placed the cold, wet rag on Hamish's head and went to make him chamomile tea.

"No, you cannot have alcohol when you're sick, Hamish!" Randall scolded.

Hamish did some pretty effective puppy dog eyes, but Randall stood strong.

"Did Tundra teach you wolfy eyes?" Randall asked Hamish.

"I was hoping they would work," Hamish murmured.

"Nice try, but you're a sick wolfy and need to get better as soon as possible. Your attempts at endangering yourself are not going to work," Randall grinned as he 'booped' Hamish's nose.

Hamish scrunched up his nose when he did that and Randall patted his cheek twice before walking off.

Hamish groaned as he realized Randall was going to baby him. He guessed Greybeard has a protective side and wants to care for his fellow pack members. Plus, Randall always took care of him when they were kids. And Hamish took care of him.

He was feeling better, he had to admit. The rag was cooling his heat down and the tea sounded promising. He could barely keep his eyes open, but Randall probably wanted to give him his tea before he knocked out so he stayed awake.

Randall slowly walked into the room while balancing a cup of tea and soup in his hand. He set them down on the nightstand and put a thermometer in his mouth. Hamish gave him an incredulous look while Randall just put his finger over his mouth. He took it out and looked at it.

"You're running a 103.5 fever and didn't tell me? Hamish that is dangerous!" Randall said with his voice dangerously high pitched.

"I didn't think it was that serious! I didn't even know we had a thermometer!" Hamish defended.

"That's because the thermometer is mine! I knew one of you would get sick someday and this would finally come in handy," Randall explained.

"But-" Hamish tried to say.

"Nope. Shut the fuck up and eat your soup," Randall cut off.

Hamish grumbled, but complied. He forgot how good Randall's cooking was. After a few minutes of drinking and eating, the soup and tea were gone.

"Get some rest, I'll take over for you," Randall said while taking the dirty dishes with him.

"Wait!" Hamish said with his hand out.

Randall turned to him with a confused expression.

"Thank you, for this," Hamish said sincerely.

Randall just smiled big and mouthed 'You're welcome'.

A few minutes later he was about to fall asleep when he felt someone petting his head. It was Randall. The touches were soothing. He soon fell asleep to each gentle stroke of his hair.

Randall kissed his forehead.

"Get better, sick wolfy," Randall whispered against his head.