Chapter Text
Initially, the coughing and itchy throat wasn’t anything Danhausen was worried about; it was winter and his human form was as susceptible to illness as any actual humans. It was an annoyance at best, but one he tolerated since it did have its benefits: he was underestimated, disbelieved, thought to be relatively harmless. Very few knew him as he truly was, which ended up being a small bit of luck that he sorely needed as his cough worsened. He reassured the concerned Best Friends that he was fine, it was just a lingering cough. It’d go away soon enough.
It didn’t. It strengthened instead, and one night left Danhausen gasping for air on the floor of his hotel room as the itchiness in his throat became unbearable. He coughed and hacked until he thought he was going to break a rib– and then the feeling of something filling his throat, something that deeply did not belong there. It felt trapped, so he forced himself to stand and stagger to do the bathroom. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to try and reach whatever it was, but he only gagged. He took as deep a breath as he could and quickly rammed his fist into his diaphragm. Another cough-gag-cough, but whatever it was worked loose and he spat it out into the sink.
He took another deeper breath, easier this time. The itchiness has lessened, still there but not as overwhelming. He closed his eyes and sagged against the counter, unable to focus on anything but breathing for the moment. Something was whispering in the back of his mind, but he tried not to listen. He kept his eyes closed. Fear was already trickling in, as he knew in his bones this wasn’t a regular human illness. The whispers grew louder; he couldn’t ignore them. Demons rarely got sick– injured, yes, but sickness was all but unheard of… except for one thing.
Heart heavy, Danhausen opened his eyes and looked down.
In the sink was a wet, crumpled ball of broken stems and torn leaves.
He fell to his knees, then to his side, and laid on the cold bathroom floor and cried.