Sick

The mate-sickness symptoms started earlier than anyone expected, least of all Damien. From most of the literature he'd read in the days following his mother's confirmation of the worst-case scenario, it took anywhere from two weeks to a month to develop the more severe symptoms of mate-sickness. He'd been further comforted by the knowledge that this wasn't the first time mother had seen mate-sickness up close. It was pretty common, especially in areas where werewolves were hunted and killed by humans who were afraid of them, or other supernatural creatures who didn't like the competition.

Because of this, Damien himself had watched his mother treat the occasional mate-sick werewolf who had come to her for help. While she was able to help to an extent, it nonetheless required a fair amount of creativity to prepare the medicines that could help ease the symptoms of withdrawal. The special formulations were needed due to the severe reactions werewolves could have to magical plants used in potions. Of course wolfsbane was the worst one, as ingesting it could even cause death in high enough doses. While there were plenty of potions that were not aconite-based, even cross-contamination could cause severe stomach pains (and bowel distress). Because of this, even the ingredients that were considered 'safe' for werewolves had to be sourced carefully and prepared in a separate area of the house to prevent any brewing accidents from occurring. Damien had long since learned not to touch anything Mother or Dezzy had brewed before learning what ingredients were used, and the food for the house was prepared in the back, the same area where the werewolf potions were prepared.

Still, given that he was quite young and generally hardy, Damien had never really expected to be one of those wolves coming to his mother for treatment. Beyond that, most of the werewolves who came to her had fallen sick due to the fact that their mate had been killed. He'd assumed that his own problem would be less serious than those cases. Surely refusing to form a fated pair bond would be less damaging to a werewolf than losing a beloved life partner!

Apparently, Damien's instincts didn't see it that way. He wasn't sure how much of the mate-sickness he was experiencing was a physical response, and how much of it was a magic problem. The only magic Damien knew much about was transformation, and his transformations were instinctual and uncontrollable - much like this thrice-cursed would-be mate bond.

Damien's mother did her best to treat him and minimize the discomfort of his symptoms, but as the days wore on, it became clear that whatever the source of the problem, it was reaching a point of unmanageability. Damien did his best to ignore it, right up until he wasn't able to anymore. First, he lost his appetite. That was fine, because sometimes it happened when he had a particularly bad transformation. Then his body started aching, which was also familiar to him, and equally endurable. Next, his body had begun to weaken, to the point that even standing up and walking around became an exhausting chore. All of that, Damien could withstand. Then, he started vomiting.

At first, Damien didn't worry too much about it - nausea was another symptom he often faced in the aftermath of a transformation. But he couldn't stop vomiting, which proved to be a serious problem. At first, mother thought that it was because of the harsh potions he was taking to try and control the symptoms, so she made him stop taking the medicine she'd prepared.

Even after he stopped taking the potions, he continued to sick up every time he ate something. Next, mother tried giving Damien milder foods, like porridge and plain bread. When even the bland food diet proved woefully unsuccessful, Damien tried limiting himself to water. But even drinking simple water had only a minor chance of staying down. Exhausted, pained, and growing steadily more dehydrated, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Damien's heart began beating irregularly.

What did come as a surprise was Dezzy's reaction.

"That's it," she'd said, when Damien vomited up another mouthful of water before falling weakly back down on the patient cot where mother had set him up once his symptoms worsened, "I'm going to find that vampire."

"What?" Damien struggled to sit up, but the dizziness forced him to lay back down again. "No!"

"Nothing else is working," Dezzy exclaimed. "You have to be near him. It's the only way to reverse this." She looked at mother, and for a moment Damien felt relieved, knowing that mother would set Dezzy straight.

Mother said nothing, a grave look on her face.

"Mother," Damien croaked, turning to fully face her. "That wouldn't work. Right?"

"It may," mother said cautiously. "Typically, mate-sickness is caused due to a lack of contact with a mate. But most of our patients at least held onto objects that contained the scent of their mate." She gazed steadily at Damien, adding, "It's possible that having something that carries the scent of the vampire would give you a fighting chance of recovery."

Dezzy's expression hardened into a look of stubborn determination. "Right. Something that smells like him." She reached out, grabbing Damien's hand and squeezing it lightly. "Hang in there, Damie," she said. "I'll be back before you know it."

Damien frowned. "You don't even know where he lives," he protested.

"No, but I can ask around," Dezzy answered, clearly not at all concerned about the optics of a demon running around random villages in search of a vampire. "I mean, we all know that vampires aren't exactly subtle creatures." She paused, frowning as a thought crossed her mind. A moment later she shook her head. Before Damien could ask, she explained. "He's got to be from around here. These guys are territorial enough that there's no chance someone from an outside clan found his way here in that condition while also avoiding all contact with the local vamps."

Damien wanted to tell her that her idea was ridiculous, and that he didn't want anything that smelled like the vampire coming near him. But part of him had never quite forgotten the way the vampire had smelled, and he couldn't honestly say he didn't want to smell that scent again… especially if there was no actual vampire attached to the scent this time. "I still think it's a bad idea," he protested weakly. He noted with some concern that mother didn't agree with him.

"Since when have I listened to your advice about my ideas?" Dezzy asked.

She had a point there. Damien wanted to protest further, but he really didn't want to die. If this longshot was his best chance at survival… "Be careful," he said, because he knew that vampires would love to get ahold of Dezzy and her rare demon blood. "Be really careful. Don't take stupid risks for me."

Dezzy laughed, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me," she said. "Those vamps won't know what hit 'em."

This was not encouraging, but Damien didn't have the energy to fight with her about it. Instead, he allowed his eyes to slide closed, and said, "Hurry back."

Dezzy huffed, rubbing his shoulder once before stepping away. "I will," she said, then added, "I'm gonna go pack." He assumed the comment was directed to mother.

"I'll gather provisions," mother said, rising from her place at Damien's bedside.

In the resulting hustle and bustle, Damien found his strength leaving him completely, and he drifted off into a restless sleep. The next time he woke, Dezzy was gone.

As the days passed, Damien found himself sleeping more and more, his body gradually weakening as the mate-sickness progressed. It grew more difficult for him to keep track of time, until he eventually gave up completely and began asking mother what day it was each time he woke. The first few times he woke, he asked about Dezzy, too. But when nearly a week had passed with still no word, he began fearing the worst. Not only had the vampire taken his first family from Damien, now he'd taken his second family, too!

Mother seemed worried, too. She scuttled around the house, making more potions than it seemed possible to give away. Sometimes Damien wondered if she was making them for Dezzy, in hopes she would return to them with some malady to explain her extended absence. Other times, he thought maybe she just needed something to do, to keep from feeling helpless. Damien understood that feeling too well - whenever he was awake, he wished he could sleep again, so he could hide from the worry he felt for Dezzy.

And so life continued on in this way, with Damien mostly sleeping and mother mostly keeping herself busy, until two weeks had passed them by. Then, almost sixteen days to the hour from the time Dezzy had declared her decision to find the vampire, Damien heard loud footsteps stomping up to the front door. Theis was followed by a tremedous crash as the door was pushed back with such force that it impacted with the adjoining wall. He was two rooms away, in the patient room, but despite not being able to see the individual who had made the commotion, he knew no one but Dezzy was capable of such a dramatic entrance.

Despite how weak and sick he was, Damien felt a grin spreading across his face at the realization. She was back!

"DAMIE!" Dezzy shouted, throwing the door open and marching into the patient room. "CATCH!"

Too weak to move, Damien did nothing to avoid the projectile Dezzy had just launched in his direction, so it scored a direct hit to his face and settled there.

"Um," he said, hearing his voice muffled by the bundle of cloth. He inhaled, intending to say something sufficiently witty, probably to do with Dezzy's terrible bedside manner, only to feel as if a spirit of pure comfort and soothing had descended upon him. He took another breath, filling his lungs with the scent. It was like breathing fresh air for the first time after escaping the stale air of the transformation cellar. Like catching his breath after laughing too hard at Dezzy's dumb jokes. Like sucking in a lungful of warm summer air after swimming underwater in the forest lake. It was heavenly.

Before he could quite register what was happening, Damien felt someone reaching down to pull the cloth away from his face. He looked up at Dezzy, recognizing the cloth held aloft in her hand as a high-necked tunic of some sort. He immediately regretted the separation, and reached out, snatching it from her grip, immediately bringing it back up to his nose to breathe through it.

"I told you I'd get it!" Dezzy was grinning at Damien, not commenting on the speed with which he'd snatched the cloth back. She took a step back and eyed him with what looked to be a mixture of gloating and satisfaction, hands perched on her hips, a too-smug grin on her face.

"How did you get this?" Damien asked, and wished he had the fortitude to toss aside the article of clothing, knowing who it had come from. But as much as he hated the man the scent belonged to, he couldn't deny that he already felt better than he had in days. Weeks, even.

"I just asked nicely," Dezzy said, in a too-innocent tone that clearly said otherwise.

"I'll get the rest of the story later," Damien decided, sinking back into his pillow and clutching the stupid tunic closer to his face. "Welcome home." His eyes had already slid shut by the time he felt Dezzy's hand come to rest on his head, tousling his hair affectionately.

"It's good to be home," she said. "I was worried about you."

Damien wanted to say 'I was worried about you, too,' but before he could quite form the words, he drifted back to sleep.