The surgery had lasted an agonizingly long amount of time. Well into the late hours of the night.
The head doctor was still reeling from just how challenging it had been. It was without doubt the most daunting procedure he had ever had to undertake in his career as a plastic surgeon thus far. Ms. de Vil's face had already undergone so many procedures as it was. There was barely even anything left to salvage at this point.
Heaven knows he tried to explain this to her, but one cannot say no to Cruella de Vil.
Earlier the woman had come storming into his office so abruptly, and looking an absolute SIGHT, demanding—no, ordering—to go under the knife right then and there. Her face had been in absolute shambles, and she refused to explain what had happened. All he knew was that she was even more irritable than she usually was, which was saying something.
Having no choice, he and his team did what they could, and within two days the doctor found himself standing nervously before his client. The tall, bony old woman sat stiffly in a metal chair, her face wrapped tightly in bandages. The man gulped, grabbing his pair of scissors off the operating table with shaking hands and began to snip them off.
"Now Ms. de Vil," he said to her as bravely as he could— which wasn't much. "You must understand that after so much reconstruction, the cheekbones and nose may be just a bit more, er… loose than before."
She was silent.
He didn't know if this was a good thing or not.
He peeled back a layer. Then another. All the while bracing himself as the end slowly drew nearer. When the last of the gauze was finally stripped away, the man's jaw dropped. He took a step back, gazing, transfixed at his own hideous handiwork. The scissors fell from his hand, clattering loudly onto the floor.
"…dear god."
The old woman's hand twitched. "The mirror," her haggard voice demanded. The man was so horrified he didn't react. This prompted her to yell it louder, slamming her fist on the arm of the chair. "THE MIRROR, YOU IMBECILE!"
He gave a start and cleared his throat. Apprehensively he reached for a hand mirror and passed it to the waiting skeletal hand.
Cruella gazed at her own grisly reflection.
There was gasp, then a pained, agonized sob. It made the doctor wince. "N-now ma'am, I'm sure with the proper make up routine—" he began telling her with a not too terribly convincing tone. But before he could get into the whole spiel, the old woman threw the mirror to the floor, shattering it.
He jumped back, bracing himself against a counter. Sweat ran down his neck, and he had to steady himself in order to even look her in the face. "P-please, Ms. de Vil," he pleaded. "Stay calm—!"
Her gaunt shoulders began to tremble. She could feel a white hot rage boiling within her. She balled her hands into fists, ready to go off on the useless, cowardly little man.
Rising out of the chair, she quickly stood at her full height and began advancing on him. She reached out her hands, their long nails looking sharp and deadly. The demented look in her eyes told him she was aiming to wring his scrawny neck. That, combined with her new patched together face, made the woman look like an honest to goodness monster.
Thousands upon thousands of dollars she'd paid him, and THIS was what he gave her?!
Cruella was beyond furious. She was LIVID.
This, as well as all of the other countless recent failures she had endured, only fueled her anger more. Thinking back on all the decades she'd spent planning her revenge on Roger and Anita's wretched dogs. How she had scoured London relentlessly for her bloody coat. All the years she'd poured into raising that ungrateful brat of a nephew. Paid obscene amounts of money just to keep herself alive long enough to finally see her victory— only to wind up where she was now?!
Her Dalmatian coat had once again slipped through her fingers. A large chunk of her fortune had just been spent just to bail herself out of jail. And now this botched surgery? She was practically frothing at the mouth.
Her left eye twitched more and more violently as she got closer to the doctor. The terrified man felt around blindly for something to defend himself with, even if it were just a tiny knife or needle— anything!
But then all at once, right before she reached him, she suddenly froze.
Something inside her snapped.
It was the last straw. Cruella de Vil finally broke.
Her arms dropped limply at her side.
Then out of the blue, she gave a hallow, wheezing laugh. Small, barely audible at first, but it soon began to grow. Louder. More unhinged. More sinister.
The color drained from the doctor's face. He turned away in terror, yet her laughter persisted, wracking and shaking her frail frame violently, sounding almost inhuman. Horrible laughter. The kind that sounded more painful than jolly.
The old woman threw her head back, cackling madly.
The doctor could only continue to cower as she staggered out of his office, through the hallway of the clinic, and eventually right out the front door. All of his other clients in the waiting room jumped when they saw her, some even letting out screams of fright.
And all the while, as her bones popped and cracked as she lurched past, she never stopped laughing. It was a laugh none of them would ever soon forget. Even after she was long gone it felt as though it continued to echo eerily throughout the clinic walls.
The doctor panted, half relieved that she was gone, while the other half wondered in dread where she was even going.
"…where… am I…?"
The boy slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His head still felt fuzzy. Like he was still partly lost in a fog. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the light and taking in the sight of the stark white room around him.
The last thing he remembered was being in the park, sitting beneath the cobblestone bridge and looking out at the stream that flowed underneath the arch. Where on earth was he now?
"Camden Memorial Hospital," he heard a woman's voice say. "You were brought here three days ago."
Hunter stared ahead blankly, still drowsy. It took a moment for him to even acknowledge the strange voice, or to even notice the tiny white puppy that had crawled onto his lap. He tiredly turned his head toward the direction the woman's voice had come from.
He was met, however, with a dog staring at him.
Upon blinking a few more times, he realized— quite alarmingly— that he had seen this dog before. Not only her, but the little white puppy as well.
In an instant he was fully awake. He quickly, but gently, pushed the puppy off his lap and then scrambled away from her in a panic, holding his hands up to make it clear to her mother that he wasn't touching her.
"Aah— I'm sorry! I-I swear, I won't hurt her, I—"
He let out a yelp as he fell off the side of the hospital bed, his arms flailing wildly before he unceremoniously hit the floor. Delilah and Dorothy both rushed to peer over the edge of the bed, Delilah with a look of worry and Dorothy with an oblivious smile and a giggle.
"My goodness, are you all right?" Delilah asked concerned. Hunter groaned in response, his leg twitching slightly as he lay there in pain.
He awkwardly pulled himself back up into a sitting position and rubbed his head. "…ow."
Dorothy giggled again and hopped down beside him, her tiny tail wagging excitedly. Hunter instinctually inched away from her again while glancing nervously at Delilah.
The older dog had still been tense, but her unease began to subside now that she saw how frightened the boy was. He was a far cry from the terror he had once been. Though she still wasn't entirely ready to let her guard down completely when it came to the younger de Vil, she would at least try to be civil.
She jumped off the bed and sat down beside Dorothy. "Everything's all right. I'm not upset with you."
His eyes widened. "You're not?"
"Well," Delilah couldn't help frowning slightly, tone becoming a bit sterner. "Not entirely."
Hunter paled at this, letting out an audible gulp.
Still frowning, Delilah stepped closer, going into professional nurse mode. "How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"
He turned his gaze to the floor, not daring to make eye contact with her. "N-no, I think I'm fine, ma'am— er— Miss Dog?" He painfully stumbled on his words. "…m-missus Dalmatian..?"
Ugh. Was it possible, he thought, to crawl into a crack in the floor and disappear forever?
The nursing dog quietly looked him over. Aside from being clearly nervous, he did indeed seem fine. Physically, at least. "Do you remember anything from the past three days?"
"I…" his brow furrowed, thinking hard, but drawing a blank. "No. I… I don't."
"You were acting very strangely. As if you were a dog. It's only just now that you've come back to your senses."
Hunter somehow managed to look even more troubled than he already did, yet at the same time he didn't seem surprised.
"Does this behavior happen often?" She asked.
The boy kept staring down at the floor. Delilah had trouble reading his expression due to his messy hair covering his face. "…yes." He answered solemnly.
"How long has this been occuring?"
"…."
"How long?" She asked again, trying to soften her tone.
"I don't know," he mumbled, unsure. "…a few months."
By this point Dorothy had wriggled her way back into his lap. It made the boy start slightly in alarm, and he glanced back up at Delilah with a look of worry. Delilah however gave him a nod, as if silently telling him it was all right.
Very carefully, and very anxiously, he gave the little pup a pet. Dorothy gleamed up at him in delight, wagging her tail again. She gave her funny human friend's fingers a lick, and it did the impossible. It actually managed to get a small laugh out of the boy, followed by a weak smile.
"…you're actually happy to see me?" He asked her sounding genuinely surprised. He rubbed a finger underneath her chin, and Dorothy gave a chipper bark in response.
He laughed again, softly but earnestly.
"-wait." The boy suddenly glanced down at himself, finally noticing the thin white hospital gown he was wearing. The look of dread quickly returned to his face. "Where are my clothes?!"
Delilah made a motion towards a chair sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed. There in a neatly folded stack sat his shirt, pants and jacket, all freshly washed. Even his sneakers were there, sitting at the foot of the chair, looking squeaky clean as well. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing them.
The nursing dog shook her head, raising an eyebrow. "You humans and your strange attachment to clothing. I don't think I'll ever understand it."
Hunter scoffed, scrunching up his nose, offended. "Those pants and those shoes happen to be designer!" He exclaimed all matter-of-factly. But he then immediately shrank back upon remembering just who he was talking to.
Once more he began wishing that he could disappear into thin air.
Dorothy giggled again. Dizzy and Dee Dee were right. He was funny. Delilah on the other hand shot him a look that clearly read 'you're on thin ice, mister,' before she began pacing the room.
"Why were you living in the park?" She questioned as she paced. "Isn't your home that tall tower?"
Hunter returned his gaze back to the tile flooring. "…no. I can't get inside anymore. My access code stopped working." He was certain it was his great auntie's doing. She had disowned him, after all. It only made sense that she would change the password in order to bar him from entering the building.
The older dog continued pacing, her face hardening as she thought. "Aside from…" she held back a wince. "…her, do you have any other relatives?"
He shook his head sadly.
"None at all?" She received another head shake. "What of your parents?"
His entire body seemed to wilt even further, and he unconsciously pulled Dorothy in a bit closer to him. "…they're dead."
Delilah stopped.
Oh dear. That certainly made things all the more difficult.
In spite of herself, she couldn't help casting a look of pity towards him. Dorothy also let out a sympathetic whimper, nuzzling herself into the boy's chest. He appreciated it greatly, even giving her a small squeeze in return.
"Well, I'm terribly sorry to hear that." Delilah said with a sigh.
There wasn't much that could be done. She returned over to the two, going right back into stern nurse mode and gave Hunter a serious look. "Listen. I'm going to go and get the doctor. He's a very kind human. I want you to tell him everything you've told me. He'll be able to help you."
He looked apprehensive at this. "…w-what's going to happen to me?" He asked, the fear very evident in his voice.
Delilah didn't know, and she didn't want to scare the child further. But at the same time she knew she couldn't sugarcoat things either. It wouldn't be fair to give him false hope. She decided she would say nothing for now. Dave was much better at breaking bad news gently anyway.
"Just stay here. I'll be back."
She took a step towards the door, but suddenly paused. After a moment of thought she turned her head back to the duo still sitting on the floor. "Dorothy?" The little one perked upon hearing her name. "…come here, love. Come with mum."
Pity or not, she still wasn't comfortable with leaving one of her pups all alone with the boy. Delilah patted the ground beside her with a paw, indicating to her little one to hurry on over. Dorothy's eyes grew glossy and large, looking torn as she glanced back and forth between Hunter and her mother.
Hunter felt his chest tighten. The mother dog had every right in the world to still think the worse of him. He knew this better than anyone. But he still felt awful about it. Even worse was the little pup's guilt ridden face. The thought of causing her any distress at all made him sick to his stomach.
He gave her one last little squeeze before softly placing her on the floor. Dorothy gazed back at him with confused, naive eyes, so he gave her a gentle push forward towards her mother. "Go on," he told her with a weak smile.
Dorothy whined a bit, but relented. She trodded over sadly to her mum, but cast Hunter once last puppy dog eyed look before the two canines disappeared into the hallway.
Doctor Dave was overjoyed.
Out of nowhere Delilah had come rushing toward him and dragged him into the mysterious little dog boy's hospital room by his coat sleeve. Once there, Dave nearly had a heart attack when he saw the boy standing upright. And even more so when he spoke— in english!
The boy had come back to his senses! He was speaking in full sentences and walking upright on his own— it was a miracle! Word soon spread throughout the entire hospital. Almost everyone else on staff had heard of the dog boy as well by this point, and were all just as thrilled and relieved to hear the wonderful news.
Hunter, for his part, felt very strange. He'd never gotten so much attention in all his life. He didn't quite know how to feel.
Oh wait. Yes he did.
He felt mortified. All these strangers had seen him acting like a dog-brained lunatic. It was nothing short of humiliating. And he couldn't even remember any of it. He turned bright red, pulling his bedsheet over his head in embarrassment when a group of nurses poked their heads into his room to gawk at him. It left him feeling like some sort of zoo animal. Thankfully Dave shooed the onlookers off.
Right away upon meeting him, the ecstatic doctor insisted on giving the young boy a check up. Hunter was reluctant, but Delilah gave him a firm push from behind, forcing him to follow Dave out of his hospital room.
Having no choice, he stuck close to the man's side as he was led to the examination room, Delilah following right behind them like a stern parent. In one hand Hunter held little Dorothy, as if for moral support, while he used his other hand to cover his face from all the staff and patients who still insisted on staring at him.
Ugh. What he would have given for a hair brush at the very least. He hadn't seen a mirror yet, but he knew for certain he must have looked a ghastly sight. The formless, completely unfashionable hospital gown he was forced to wear was certainly NOT helping.
Once the strange little party of humans and dogs arrived and found an unoccupied exam room, the testing began. Hunter awkwardly climbed onto the paper covered table as the doctor asked him an array of questions. Most of them the same as the ones the nursing dog had asked earlier.
Delilah, meanwhile, sat quietly on the floor, keeping an attentive eye on the puppy in the boy's arms.
"So, Hunter is it?" Dave said upon learning the boy's name at least, smiling at him warmly. "I can't tell you how good it is to finally meet you."
There was true sincerity in the man's voice. The whole time he spoke in such a calm, all around friendly manner, that Hunter couldn't help thinking how odd it was to actually be treated kindly by an adult for once. It felt strange and foreign. The whole time he found himself on edge, expecting the doctor to suddenly snap angrily at him at any given moment, yet he never did.
Dave checked his heartbeat, reflexes, then ran a blood test. All the while he kept up the friendly conversation, even when Hunter winced at the syringe needle, hugging Dorothy a little tighter. Dorothy in return gave the offending needle a fierce little growl.
Dave chuckled wholeheartedly. "There now, no need to worry. I promise he'll barely feel it."
To Hunter's surprise, he was right. Not only did an adult not hurt him, he also told him the truth. Dorothy seemed relieved too, but was still ready to bite and chew on any other scary looking device that dared come close to Mister Funny Face.
After sending the blood sample off for testing, Dave pulled a chair up and sat himself down in front of the boy, all while adjusting his large glasses more comfortably on his thin face. "Tell me, Hunter. How old are you?"
"Eleven."
The doctor's eyebrows raised slightly. "That's quite young to be out all on your own."
"Well… I didn't exactly have a choice," Hunter said with a sigh.
"Where's your family?"
"I haven't got one."
Dave frowned, also much like the nursing dog had done earlier. "Are you certain? No blood relatives at all?"
The child's face scrunched up. He turned away to glare bitterly at the floor for a few moments before returning his gaze back to the doctor. "No," he said bleakly. "…none."
Dave gave a troubled glance back. The man could tell there was clearly more to it.
That was when Delilah suddenly rose from her spot on the floor and leaned up against the exam table, propping her paws on the flat surface. She gave the boy's arm a firm nudge with her nose and barked. The boy turned to her and gave a questioning look.
"But I—"
She barked again, cutting him off.
"But she—"
Another stern bark.
"Yeah, but—"
Three more barks, these sounding oddly lecture-y.
"Ok, ok! …fine."
Doctor Dave watched this bizarre 'conversation' play out in bewildered silence, until Hunter cleared his throat and addressed him again. Reluctantly.
"…actually… I do have one family member. But I'd rather not talk about them." The boy gave Dorothy another sad pat and added under his breath, "…they've disowned me anyway."
"Disowned?" Dave repeated in alarm.
He adjusted his glasses again, his eyes becoming serious behind their reflective shine. He hated to pry, but there was no other way to help the boy. He had to know the full details of his family situation in order to decide where the best place to send him would be. Though in any case, a call to child services was certainly in order.
The examination went on. All the while Dave continued chatting with the boy, subtly trying to get him to reveal more about himself.
Within an hour he learned that Hunter's biological parents were deceased, having apparently perished during a photoshoot on the ski slopes of Aspen. They had both been wealthy online influencers who barely ever saw their son, let alone remembered he even existed half the time.
After their rather abrupt, tragic deaths, Hunter had then spent most of his life living atop a nearby office building there in Camden. One which belonged to a fashion designer Dave had vaguely heard of before. Apparently that was the last living relative in question.
"Did she live with you?" Dave asked as they finished up the final test. He helped Hunter down from the table and led him back out into the hall, a clipboard firmly under his arm as they walked. Delilah followed as Dorothy, now growing tired, let out a tiny, squeaky yawn in Hunter arms.
"No. She has a mansion in Switzerland."
"Then who took care of you?"
"I had butlers," Hunter answered with a shrug.
Dave grew more perturbed with every new tidbit of information he learned. He tried pressing Hunter further, but eventually the young boy refused to continue sharing. He couldn't bring himself to relive the chilling events he had recently endured.
The months in the container. His great auntie's horrible fur machine. The trauma was all still too fresh in his mind. Besides, he doubted the doctor would even believe him anyway. It was all so outlandish. Hunter knew he probably wouldn't have believed it either if he hadn't lived through it himself.
Regardless, the doctor still took a record of everything he did manage to learn. Flipping over a few pages of the clipboard, he hastily jotted down some notes. Hunter could only imagine what they were. They most certainly weren't positive, he could at least guess that much for sure.
Hunter had several questions of his own, but he was far too afraid to ask them. He didn't want to think about what the future had in store for him. Would he be carted off to the nuthouse after all? Or if not, would he be dumped into a dreary orphanage instead? One that was old and falling apart, where all the kids were miserable, just like in the movies?
And if he was sent to an orphanage, who in their right mind would even want to adopt a kid like him anyway?
Now back in his hospital room, Hunter warily made his way to the bed while still cradling Dorothy. Instead of climbing in himself, he gently placed the puppy down on a plush pillow and covered her tiny body with the blanket as she let out another yawn. She blinked a few times sleepily, before drifting off into a nap.
He stood there watching her in silence, his mind overflowing with uneasy thought after uneasy thought. He didn't even hear or notice that Dave had knelt down beside him.
"Hunter?" Came his concerned voice.
The boy didn't look up. He kept his gaze downwards, hair messily sliding over his eyes and face. He bit his lip before finally daring to quietly ask, "…what's going to happen to me?"
He felt a gentle hand place itself on his shoulder.
The doctor gave him a quiet look of pity, hating this situation almost as much as the child did. He shared a momentary glance with Delilah before breaking the news as delicately as he could.
"Well… given everything you've told me, as well as your current mental state, my recommendation is to have you transported to a psychiatric hospital."
Dave quickly added, "Temporarily!" when he noticed Hunter had started to quite literally shake with fear. "Yes, only temporarily! Until the doctors there can help you. But I promise, you'll be perfectly fine."
Hunter kept his gaze downwards, but asked in a small, trembling voice, "…t-they… they won't throw me in a padded cell… will they?"
The doctor chuckled softly and gave the boy's shoulder a light pat. "No, of course not."
Another beat of silence passed between them as Hunter took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself back down. Yet despite Dave's gentle reassurance, Hunter was still very frightened. What if Dave was wrong? What if this other hospital was just as horrifying as the place his great auntie had been sent to all those decades ago? What if it only made him crazier?
"After that," he heard Dave's voice start speaking again, "…you'll most likely be placed into foster care."
His shaking abruptly stopped.
Oh.
Oh… no.
He felt his heart sink.
Delilah tilted her head from where she stood in order to try and see if she could read the young boy's expression. Once catching a glimpse, she quickly dashed over to the nearby nightstand to grab a box of tissues in her mouth and handed them to Dave. He in turn offered one to Hunter.
Hunter hadn't even realized he had begun crying.
Tears dripped down his face and he sniffed pathetically. The sight of Dorothy still sleeping on the bed in front of him began to grow blurry as more tears obscured his vision.
He had often felt lost and small in his life, but now more so than ever. He didn't even know what foster care was exactly, but he was scared of it just the same. The one thing he did know about it was that it was for children that nobody wanted. …even though his life with his aunt had been horrid, at least he hadn't been completely alone in the world. The thought of truly being without a family at all, even his bad one, was completely new and terrifying.
It would mean that he, without a shadow of a doubt, had absolutely no one now.
He felt Dave pat his shoulder again, mumbling a "There, there," and an "It'll be all right," but Hunter continued to weep.
He couldn't stop.
Throughout the following day Delilah kept taking breaks during her shift to check in on the young de Vil. Every time she poked her head into his room, she found him in the same spot as always. Lying in his bed, covers pulled up over his head, not moving or making a sound.
He was still completely inconsolable.
Delilah and Dave both tried in vain to comfort him, but there wasn't really much they could say. Soon he would be transferred off to a different hospital, and they would most likely never see the boy again.
She should have been relieved about that, but strangely she found herself feeling a little… she wasn't sure. Sad? Remorseful? She was conflicted about it at the very least. And she knew trying to explain to Dorothy that she would never see her human friend ever again was going to be especially difficult.
Delilah tried not to think about it.
During lunch she decided to walk Hunter to the cafeteria. Though he refused to eat anything, she knew just getting him out of his room for a little bit would be good for him. Let him stretch his legs and whatnot.
But even still, the boy remained gloomy. The only time he perked up at all was when Delilah accidentally triggered his dog side. She had offered to fetch him some apple slices, but very quickly came to regret her wording. Upon hearing 'fetch' the boy was down on all fours once again, barking excitedly, waiting for a ball to be thrown.
She hastily got him back to his room, and it took her nearly twenty minutes or so just to snap him back out of it.
To say he was upset was an understatement. Once himself again, he crawled back into bed and buried his face into his pillow, crying bitterly over how no one will ever adopt the "crazy dog boy."
What a mess. Delilah had only managed to make things worse.
She stood up on her hind legs to lean against the side of the bed, but Hunter hid his face from her, burying it further into his pillow, as well as underneath his messy mop of blonde hair. Delilah sighed and rested her head down, hoping that her presence alone would console him, even just a little. She was even willing to let him pet her now. …anything to get him to feel even the slightest bit better.
She silently wished she had brought Dorothy to work with her again. If anyone could miraculously make Hunter smile, it was her.
Meanwhile, Dave was finishing up with a patient elsewhere in the clinic. He signed their prescription and waved them off halfheartedly, not able to take his mind off of the poor boy just a few doors down.
He planned to stop in soon, perhaps even try to offer Hunter a slice of the cake his wife had baked last night to share with the break room staff, when he suddenly felt his phone ringing in his pocket.
The doctor didn't think anything of it at first, as getting sudden calls was all apart of the job, but a quick glance at the number made him do a double-take.
It was the police station.
For a few bewildered seconds he simply stared at his phone in shock, before hurriedly bringing it to his ear to answer it. "Yes, hello?"
A young woman's voice answered him. A social worker, it seemed. She sounded rather nervous, as though something had just startled her greatly, but she tried to mask the trembling in her voice as best she could. She told him that finally, several days after filing the missing child report on eleven year old Hunter de Vil, someone had arrived to claim him.
Dave was stunned. "…are you certain? Who are they? Where on Earth have they been?"
"Please, sir— if I can just—"
The woman's voice cut off abruptly, interrupted by a different voice entirely. One that was gravely and coarse. This other voice, elderly sounding, let out a wheezing cough, before demanding, quite prudently, to be told where her "precious grandnephew" was.
"Y-yes, ma'am, I'll get you the address right away, I-I just need to file the correct paper work..!" The nervous social worker tried to tell her, but was cut off again.
"YOU SLOW, INCOMPETENT FOOLS! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!"
There was more distant, angry screaming, and then what sounded like a door slam.
The young social worker yelled out a frantic, "N-no wait, please, you can't just—" before swiftly cutting out. Dave stared slack jawed at his phone, not knowing what to think.
He quickly redialed the number, only to have a different person answer. "Excuse me? I just received a phone call from this number regarding a young boy by the name of De Vil."
The new operator, a different, slightly older sounding woman, responded in a voice just as shaken as the previous one. "Oh dear, y-yes, the de Vil! W-we tried to stop her, but— oh goodness, she's already on her way there! She claimed to be the boy's aunt and insists on taking him right away!"
Dave blinked, utterly confused. "Who?!"
Delilah remained at Hunter's side, waiting quietly as his sobbing slowly died out. She delicately reached out a paw to push aside a strand of his hair. The sad, tear soaked face that met her underneath let out a pained sniffle. "Shh… hush now," Delilah murmured. "No more crying now. You're dehydrated enough as it is, you know."
Hunter weakly raised a hand to wipe his eyes. "…m'sorry…"
"Don't be. Just have something to drink."
She stepped away from his bedside and trodded over to a small food cart sitting near the door where his lunch from earlier remained untouched. She was about to snatch up an unopened juice box in her mouth and bring it over to him, carefully and not too tightly so as not to break it, when she heard the boy say in a small, miserable voice…
"You don't have to be nice to me."
She paused. After a moment of thought, she replied simply, "I know. I want to be."
With that she brought the box over, and he reluctantly sat up to drink it. While taking a sip, he kept his gaze downcast, feeling completely baffled by the dog's answer. Delilah, meanwhile, was just happy to see him getting some liquid in his system. Perhaps, with some luck, she could even get him to take a bite out of the sandwich still sitting on the food tray as well. Here's hoping.
The brief peace was short-lived though, as suddenly they both heard stomping footsteps begin to approach from outside the room. Hunter lifted his head up, curious, and Delilah did the same. They listened in silence as the stomping got louder, and soon the door handle began to twitch before it slowly turned. They heard what sounded like Doctor Dave's voice, demanding that whoever was there to 'please stop,' but the door was pushed open regardless.
Without warning Delilah felt her nose sting with a familiar scent.
Both dog and child nearly leapt from the bed in horror upon seeing the thin figure standing ominously at the doorway. Though she was covered from head to toe in a long coat, scarf and face concealing sunglasses, it was still quite obvious who the woman was.
Hunter's breath caught in his throat and the drink dropped right out of his hands.
"Hunter... darling."