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Angel was home again.
The month had been a whirlwind, a true team effort of frantic, half-baked planning, late-night negotiations, and some truly inspired, bloody-minded improvisation. A series of risky bets, to be sure, but the payout was undeniable: the Vees beaten back into a background concern, and the return of the hotel’s prodigal son, newly unshackled. There was plenty left to still unpack, loose ends that would fray the longer they were left untied, but as a whole the hotel was ready to celebrate their hard-fought victory. So was Angel.
So was Husk.
The gambler hadn’t stopped smiling since he and Angel strolled their way back inside together, hand boldly in hand, a warm and dangerous joy filling his chest. The bond between them was too fresh still for a label, but real enough to wear where the others could see it. Between the well-wishes around Angel’s return the two were also fielding encouraging grins and excited questions.
A teary-eyed Charlie slung her arms around their necks and hiccuped, “I’m – just – so – happy for you – two and so, so proud of you, Angel!”
“Ah hah, thanks, Charlie,” the spider smiled, craning his neck back as he glanced at a similarly struggling Husk. “Jus’ happy to be back without any looky-loos in my head this time.”
“And now you’ve also found LOVE and it’s all just so – so beautiful, and Husk, ohmygoodness, I’ve never seen you so happy-!”
“Oookay, hon,” Vaggi stepped in, “let’s give them some breathing room, maybe help your dad finish setting up outside…?”
“With-? Oh! Oh! Right, the surprise!” Charlie beamed at the (frankly, exhausted) couple, her hands unable to help but jazz. “You guys are gonna love it!”
“…Should we be worried?” Husk muttered once the princess and Vaggi were out of earshot. “I mean, more than usual?”
“Eh, probably, but honestly I’ve had my world rocked so hard in the past forty-eight hours that I’m too emotionally fucked-out to care.” Angel smirked then, and nudged the cat’s shoulder. “But hey, if’n whatever bullshit the royals’ve got planned gets to be too much for you, Whiskers, just safeword out and I’ll get Cherri to blow us an exit.”
“And here I thought blowing was your job.”
The spider’s eyes went comically, gloriously wide in surprise, quickly followed by a smile so joyful that Husk swore he’d never need another drop of bourbon so long as those looks kept coming his way.
“Oh HO, kitty’s got jokes now! Guess I finally rubbed off on you.”
Husk slashed a self-pleased grin. “Only if you’re lucky.”
“Holy shit, Husk, is this real fuckin’ life?!”
---
The evening sauntered on, the Hotel’s other personalities continuing to make their opinions on the day’s developments known (Baxter pleasantly relayed his hopes that Angel “wouldn’t require a third rescue mission”, and Niffty blinked her big eye up at them and asked, “So how does it work when you’re both bottoms?”) until the perpetually red sky of Hell cooled into something dark and cloudless.
Charlie reappeared and ushered everyone outside, vibrating with scarcely-concealed excitement as she unveiled the “surprise”. A rainbow of fairy lights were strung in the patterns of a Big Top tent, capping scattered blankets adorned with food-laden picnic baskets and bottles of something that gave sweet, fruity notes once uncorked. Gentle jazz (that Husk was sure was Alastor’s contribution) crooned throughout the scene, sourceless and weightless, and the King of Hell announced, with a grin to rival his daughter’s, that he’d be facilitating a fireworks show that would “fuck your little mortal minds!”
It was beautiful. A celebration at once intimate and low-key, while still proudly, unapologetically jubilant. Husk left his hat on the blanket so he could nest his head against Angel’s shoulder, the spider’s chin resting between the cat's ears. Multiple arms draped around a grey-furred waist, a long tail curled low across pink-clad hips; warmth and breath shared in equal, quiet measure. They needed this. Not just after everything, but inherently. This felt like a puzzle completed.
Husk had to give it to Lucifer - the fireworks show was damn impressive.
Among the usual bursting, fizzling stars of color were lions that roared, winged serpents baring rainbow fangs, a twinkling spider’s web, and, okay, yeah, a bunch of ducks flipping and flapping across the night sky.
Damn show-off, he thought affectionately, nodding to acknowledge some new display that had made Angel grip his arm in sudden excitement.
Cherri eventually joined their blanket with a joint for her and Angel to pass between them. Soon enough the two were giggling up a storm, pointing out which of the more abstract fireworks they decided looked like dicks. Husk grinned along with them, charmed despite himself and more distracted by the colors reflected across Angel’s white fur than anything happening above.
The show ended to well-deserved applause. Lucifer made it midway through his first round of ringmaster’s bows before Alastor stepped in to literally upstage him. The Radio Demon shed his shadows with a showman’s flair (completely blocking a certain affronted king from view), and merrily twirled his mic.
“What a perfectly adequate display of unearned magical ability!” he crowed, his voice supernaturally projected for the crowd. “Thank you, sire, for a truly pedestrian performance! Good job!
“Now,” he leered, watching Lucifer trudge back into the crowd, two heavenly birds flipped in the deer’s direction, “let us wind down Charlie’s lovely little celebration with a toast!”
A wave of green magic rippled across the scattered sinners on the hill and Husk’s fur bristled unpleasantly. Champagne flutes manifested in everyone’s hand, displacing whatever else might have been there (prompting swears from Cherri and Angel).
Alastor raised his glass, grinning broadly.
“To a continued commitment to our dear princess’ dream,” he nodded graciously to Charlie, “to the safe return of our wayward first resident,” a gesture to Angel, “and…” here he chuckled, eyes half-lidded, satisfied by some greater fraction, “…to newfound freedom. Huzzah!”
Huh.
Husk’s ear twitched, thoughtful as he joined the crowd in draining his glass. There was something about the demon’s tone there, the expression he wore as he preened – like he was flaunting some secret victory. Alastor did love his secrets.
…Well, whatever. Husk would file that little tidbit firmly under ‘not his problem until it’s made his problem’. He had enough of those without looking for strays to adopt.
The party wound down, conversations and baskets enjoyed, before people rolled up their blankets to retire for the night. Angel, Cherri, and Husk were among the last to linger. Cherri suggested the three move to the roof to toss off a few of her own handmade “fireworks”; Angel countered with a sleepover smoke session in his room and a few episodes of “The Real Housewives of Hell”. Husk was happy to be the deciding vote and give trash TV the win, fully ready to find himself horizontal on a mattress.
“A moment, Husker.”
The Radio Demon stood behind him, his smile almost gentle.
“…Yeah, sure, boss.” Husk looked to Angel, who’d gone stiff. “You guys go on and get started, I’ll join you later.”
“I’ll return him shortly, don’t you fret,” Alastor simpered, waving a limp wrist when the two didn’t immediately move. “Off you trot.”
Hesitation lingered, but Husk caught their gaze and nodded again, reassuring, and the pair finally drifted inside.
Husk turned back just in time to catch the tail-end of Alastor’s eye-roll. Cane in hand, the Overlord strode back to where his own picnic blanket was still laid out, clearly intending for his cat to follow. He did so, silent, dutiful, and actively trying to keep from guessing what the fuck this was about, mostly because his mind wouldn’t let him imagine anything pleasant.
He perked up considerably once he noticed the deer had conjured a short, square bottle of Scotch and two glass tumblers. Husk settled at as respectful a distance the blanket would allow between them, grunting a genuinely appreciative “Thanks” as the other sinner poured him a glass.
“Yes, well, charming as Charlie’s newfound love of gift baskets is, I prefer my nightcaps a mite stronger than moscato.”
“Well shit, you know I don’t disagree,” Husk hummed, savoring that first smoky, peaty sip, “but I don’t know that I’d call it ‘newfound’. That girl’s tastes already veered pretty angelic.”
Alastor smirked around the edge of his glass, cat-eyed, and crossed his long legs at the ankles. “We’re alone, Husker, you can say ‘infantile’.”
He laughed. “Jackass.”
There was more affection in the word than he’d have liked.
They drank in silence for a moment, gazing at Pentagram City’s distant neon. There was still a noticeably darkened strip, the visible scar from Vox’s mid-death crisis. Crazy to think that was barely a month ago. Husk hadn’t really had time to slow down and think about it, too caught up in the collective mad dash to help Angel break his contract, to handle the new surge of Hotel residents seeking salvation, and to alternately dodge and reluctantly deal with the strange emotional fallout from Queen Lilith’s announced return. There was just no break from it. Ever since Charlie opened her heart and her hotel to Hell it was just one disaster after another, a fucking flood. The best Husk could do was tread hard enough to keep his own pathetic, alcoholic neck above water. Not much time left for reflection between the drinking and the swimming.
Hopefully, he and Angel would be able to seize at least a little reprieve now that the latest wave had receded. Then again, Husk supposed, that was at least partly going to depend on...
“So, boss.” He cast a careful side glance. “You just need someone to share the bottle?”
It’d be the first time in eight years, if so.
“Mm… no.”
Figured.
“No, I thought it prudent to – check-in. Re-align! It’s been quite a minute since we’ve properly jawed, my good man. Especially with so much changed. Never a dull moment among the Morningstars, mm?”
“Nah,” the cat agreed flatly, refilling his glass – aware he was going to need it.
“Now, now, don’t go dour on me so quickly, sourpuss. This is only a conversation, not a meeting.” His grin curled. “We’ll have that with Niffty later this week.”
“- Shit, really?” Goddamn, speaking of things that hadn’t happened in eight years…
The Radio Demon raised a condescending brow. “I would say it’s well past time, wouldn’t you, Husker? The hotel finally has more than a handful of names in its guest book, there are no distracting, existential threats to deal with, and Lilith herself will soon grace the hotel with her presence. Not to mention the trust and good-will you and dear Niffty have managed to foster.”
Only Alastor could make those sound like dirty words.
Husk nodded, trying to mask the roiling in his stomach with a look that read as 'placidly agreeable'. His intention was to play his hand close to his chest, but apparently Alastor knew his tells. Or, more likely and more horrifyingly, he’d already predicted how Husk would actually receive the news, so any reaction in the moment meant shit.
“Oh, calm your newly-bleeding heart, you old con. You won’t be killing anyone, it will just be a little more active information gathering.”
Sure, that’s how it would start. It was that “active” part that concerned Husk - this devil was always in the fucking details.
“Really,” he continued, forever happy to hear himself talk, “it’s their own fault for actually believing I’d offer the services of my souls for free. This is just the bill coming due.”
“Uh huh.”
“You and Niffty won’t even be the hotel’s first spies.” Alastor chuckled and tilted his neck coquettishly into his own shoulder, red eyes glowing as he locked them with Husk’s. “Or the second.”
Husk jerked his head up from his drink like he’d been yanked.
“- That shit wasn’t Angel’s fault.”
“And this won’t be yours! Look at that, something new for you two to bond over. Just in time, too, now that your beau’s slipped his own self-made leash.”
Now that shut the cat up quick.
The response he had ready died on his tongue, his furry jaw closing with an audible ‘click’ of teeth. Alastor only smiled absently and topped up his glass, clearly pretending he didn’t notice how the gambler eyed that comment the same way he would an unexpected bet.
Or a landmine.
Same difference, when your opponent was Alastor.
“…Thought you agreed that needed to happen,” he said carefully.
“When did I imply otherwise? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten my lovely toast, Husker. I would never begrudge a soul their successful struggle for freedom. So long as they were prepared to suffer any. Consequences.”
The string lights flickered and Husk’s next sip of Scotch became a rough gulp.
“Besides, your lovely spider was hardly going to make it to Heaven while still peddling Valentino’s filth. Anything to support dear Charlie’s desperate dream, yes?”
True enough. Alastor even sounded genuine. Or at least as genuine as he ever was behind the layers of static and sarcasm. So then what was he really trying to-?
‘Beau’, he’d said. ‘Your lovely spider’.
They’d come in holding hands today. Whatever anyone might have suspected prior, Husk and Angel were being open about their connection now, and this was the first Alastor had acknowledged it.
Husk’s tail swished slowly against the blanket before he caught and stilled the movement.
“Right, yeah. ‘Course.”
Careful, now, he told himself. Be so goddamn careful if you’re gonna go peeling back the lid on this can of mad-deer-diseased worms.
“…Hey, Alastor…”
“Husker.” The Radio Demon’s smile was close-lipped. “I get the distinct sense you’re about to try and manage me, and you know how little I tolerate that.”
Fuck it.
“Is my datin’ Angel about to be a problem?”
“A ‘problem’? Heavens no!” Just like that the full grin was back, seemingly pleased by his blunt show of bravery. Pleased to return to the script, perhaps. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Why, I’m glad for you, Husker.”
“'Glad'.”
“Of course! Why shouldn’t I be glad for my pet to find a novel way to leash himself more firmly?”
Claws curled against glass, teeth on display before he could help it.
“The fuck do you mean by–“
“I mean that for decades now you’ve dutifully avoided forming any attachments that didn’t come by the case. One would think you downright monastic, the way you’ve walled off your pathetically tender heart behind inebriated solitude.” Alastor sighed theatrically. “It has made it difficult at times for me to provide you with appropriate motivation. Why, I’d almost suspect you’d done it on purpose. I can’t exactly leverage a pot you refuse to ante into, eh? Quite the clever play, my feline fellow!
“But now you’ve gone and ruined it.”
That yellow smile slashed further upwards, the absolute, demonic glee in his expression scything through any rejoinder Husk could hope to scramble for.
“Now you have something to lose. Don’t you. Absolute fool that you are, you’ve let yourself care for someone again. For Angel Dust, of all sinners. For a reckless, insecure, emotionally-shattered mask of a man as addicted to self-destruction as he is to anything from a bottle."
Alastor winked, conspiratorial. "No wonder you two get on."
Before the sudden cold constricting Husk's lungs could thaw into response, the Radio Demon burst into a fit of giggles. With one hand on his shriveled heart he waved his drink in a mocking toast that felt so much realer than the one he'd offered earlier.
"And! And! You've hitched your single, sorry horse to the one cart in Hell actively trying to leave you for Paradise! Oh, the comedy! The dramatic irony! Why, Bustor Keaton couldn't arrange a better pratfall!"
Alastor let his chin rest at a tilt in his palm, ears flopping cutely to one side. He eyed Husk's stricken, pained grimace with a malicious gleam.
"...Oh, Husker," he sighed pleasantly. "How many times do you plan on killing yourself? You would think once would be enough."
Another chuckle, dry as a death rattle. Husk almost couldn't hear it past the pounding blood and buzzing static in his head, frizzing through his feathers. He was caught like grit in his own gears, shock and fury grinding into one another and getting absolutely fucking nowhere for the effort. The collar wasn't out, but it may as well have been for all that he felt choked, his tongue thick. Useless.
Fine enough for Alastor, it seemed; this was never actually meant to be a conversation.
Familiar claws gripped Husk's hunched shoulder in a friendly squeeze, ignoring his responsive jerk for distance. A pinch at the skin beneath his fur and then the red menace was standing - ready to end this evening's broadcast.
Smiling. Always, smiling.
"Congratulations, my old friend. Nullum infernum nisi quod facimus, hm?"
No Hell but the one we make.
The clack of the Radio Demon's footsteps grew distant behind him, clipped but unhurried, followed by the heavy close of the lobby's front door. Husk was dimly aware, as he always was, that even Alastor’s exit had been deliberately chosen for greater, dramatic impact; a performer's bow to his beloved audience. Oh, but they knew each other so fucking well, didn’t they? Blades well-used to sharpening each other's edges.
Hell's muggy night air breezed across his wings and tickled an ear to twitch. Husk's vision had blurred, and for once not from drink. He bobbed for a time among the unwelcome echo of his soul-owner's words, then finally seized onto that parting shot - the fucking Latin. Absurd, pretentious, and just abstract enough to look goddamn silly when lined up among those other, crueler barbs. Downright stupid. Not worth his fucking time. Husk blinked himself back into a flat focus, curled his lip, and finally drained the last dregs of his glass.
"...Miserable motherfucker," he muttered.
No telling who he meant.
Husk stood. He loosened the claws that had dug furrows into cloth and forced his tail free from its coil around his feet. (Nah, you know what, fuck that, his tail was never there to start with, never happened, he wasn't some kicked fucking kitten.) Like packing up a prop trunk, he shoved his dread and self-loathing back into the pit of bile at the hollowed core of him. He could get them later - wasn't like they wouldn't be in reach. For now, Angel was waiting for him.
...Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Husk rolled his shoulders, and let the embers in his damned, dried-timber heart stir at the reminder, let himself seek the warmth without concern for fire-proofing. The check wasn't due yet; his borrowed time was still his to enjoy. Tomorrow's bullshit could good and goddamn wait for sunrise.
Tonight, Angel was waiting for him.