Gretel had kept her promise; she stayed by his side the entire time he was asleep, through what was left of the night until well into the morning. The time was stretching toward noon when he started to stir- by then, she had gotten up, but remained in the large, horribly pink room where she could always see or hear him. Wearing the lace underwear (that she was finally used to) and Sam's warm button-up flannel shirt, she appeared at his side of the bed with a waste bin, which she set on the bedstand within his reach, and gently eased herself to a sit on the edge beside him.
"Afternoon, handsome-" she exhaled, both in affection and an appropriate amount of pity for what was undoubtedly the hangover from hell. She'd seen it enough times, though never with Hansel. She couldn't allow him to drink as bad as Sam had gotten last night, not with his blood sickness.
Herself, on the other hand...
"Breathe it away," she coaxed, tracing soothing fingers along his hairline, then pressed her palm over his brow with a pressure she knew would bring some relief to the throbbing. "I'd rather you not puke on me."