Chapter Text
The answers to life’s problems had never been found at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon, but that didn’t stop Husk from searching there.
Angel had looked wrecked. Broken. And he thought that by going back to V-Tower, he was somehow protecting the hotel, which was all kinds of wrong and- and sad.
Because Husk could put on a brave face and march into V-Tower and hoist Angel over his shoulder right now and haul him back to the hotel, but none of it would matter because Angel had chosen to leave. He had chosen to leave because his soul was owned by the damn Vees and despite being bested and now hated by the majority of Pride, the Vees were still filming and releasing products and clutching at the rubble of their destroyed reputation.
They would never set Angel free, which meant that Angel would never choose to leave. Not unless something drastic changed. Not unless someone could convince him that the Vees could no longer control him and that he wasn’t a danger to the hotel, to his friends.
And Husk couldn’t honestly say that the Vees couldn’t control him. Their approval rating was shot to shit, but they still owned souls. They still had contracts and employees and favours that they could call in. They weren’t the most powerful Overlords in Hell anymore, but they weren’t weak. Vox still had his hypnotism. Valentino still had his venom. Velvette still had her witchcraft.
He signalled for another bourbon and when the bartender began to pour it, Husk slid a large sum of money across the bar. “Leave the bottle.”
The rat-like bartender shrugged, pocketed the money and pushed the entire bottle towards Husk and Husk swirled the dark liquid around its container, head propped miserably onto one hand. How did you save someone who didn’t want to be saved?
“I was drinking that too.”
The voice was unmistakable and white-hot rage boiled inside of Husk as his grip on the bottle tightened hard enough for the glass to protest. He glanced to his left, past the bird sinner who was halfway to passing out over his rum, and at the flat-faced asshole watching him with a frown and a nearly-finished glass of bourbon in one hand.
Husk was not a violent man. He had a temper, sure, but that temper usually manifested itself in grumbling and sarcasm and pointed eyerolls. He could certainly defend himself and he didn’t take shit from anybody (except Alastor, because he had no choice in the matter), but he was more likely to approach a conflict with a few distracting magic tricks and make way for a quick escape than he was to throw a punch.
Until it came to the Vees. Each one of them had this incredible ability to get under his skin in ways that set his teeth on edge and had his fists clenching.
“In that case, have the whole fucking bottle,” Husk said as he launched out of his chair, narrowly avoiding the bird-like sinner that was starting to snore on the bartop.
There was a certain satisfaction in watching Vox’s eyes widen with realisation moments before the bottle crashed into his face, and him not having time to defend himself. Glass shattered, bourbon rained down on both of them, and the force sent Vox tumbling out of his stool as huge cracks webbed across his screen, causing flickers of pink and green pixels to distort his face.
With the drop in power, his recovery time was slower than usual and Husk threw himself onto the downed Overlord and thrust the jagged neck of the broken bottle into Vox’s screen, grinning viciously as more cracks split his face.
Vox hissed in pain, static biting at Husk’s skin, and when cyan claws flew towards Husk, he gripped the wrist they were attached to and pinned both arms either side of Vox’s fat head, tail whipping the air in fury.
Blue liquid - perhaps some sort of coolant or modified blood - oozed out of the cracks in Vox’s screen and his face was distorted by lines of interference that rolled over his expression, with some parts of his screen entirely black. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, not after what this bastard had put Angel through. Husk wanted him to feel the despair that Angel felt. He wanted Vox to feel entirely hopeless and trapped and defeated. The incident with the Might of Lilith wasn’t humiliation enough. He wanted Vox to hurt. He wanted to punish the vile television and watch him bleed.
Quick as a flash, Husk unsheathed his claws and tore them through Vox’s chest, and the media Overlord grit his teeth before forcing a hypnotic gaze upon Husk.
“Get off me.”
Husk fought the command as best he could, but Vox was still an Overlord at the end of the day and his limbs moved against his will. Vox clambered to his feet and Husk followed suit, fists clenched and shaking as he struggled against the hypnosis. Vox dusted himself off, brushing his own fragmented glass from his suit, and then he suddenly drew his fist back and socked Husk in the mouth.
The connection was severed and Husk shook his head, grimacing at the coppery tang upon his lips, and a snarl tumbled out of him as he fanned his wings and readied himself for another strike.
Vox glowered at him but held his hands up. “I came here looking for a drink, not a barfight.”
Husk flashed his teeth at the asshole. “I don’t give a shit what you came here for.” A battlecry rang out in his mind, demanding the blood of the Overlord that had made Angel’s afterlife more hellish than it had to be, and he lunged again, summoning a deck of cards as he did so.
Vox ducked out of the way of a sharp-edged diamond card, and caught the tail end of an explosive club. Before he could learn what a heart card could do, he generated a surge of electricity and fired it at Husk and Husk dodged the attack fast enough that only his tail feathers were singed.
The lights flickered as Vox prepared another blast, and Husk summoned a pair of highly explosive dice, but there was a hiss and a shout and Husk was suddenly being blasted by a thick white foamy substance that slicked his feathers and forced him to land. Vox sputtered and threw his arms over his face as the foam was directed at him too.
Finally, the stream stopped and Husk and Vox turned to the seething bartender, who brandished a fire extinguisher at them threateningly. “You ain’t destroying my bar. Take it outside!” he snapped in a rough, New York accent.
Husk’s ears drooped sheepishly but he clenched his jaw when Vox piped up.
“I’m not trying to destroy anything. The flea-bitten stray started the fight. I’m just here to drink.”
“I’ve half a mind to light you on fire myself, Mr. I’m-going-to-blow-up-half-of-hell-with-a-fucking-cannon. You killed my cockatiel, y’know? Hated the fucking thing, but that isn’t the point! It’s a good job I wasn’t in the apartment when you incinerated it, wasn’t it?”
Husk tilted his head, momentarily distracted. “How did you find a cockatiel in Hell?”
“The damn thing followed me from my life on Earth. No one believed me that it was an evil fucking bird.” He shook his head. “That’s besides the point.” He wagged a finger at both of them. “Get out of my bar before I call security. And by security, I mean the shotgun beneath the counter. And by call, I mean I’m gonna fire a round through your skull and whatever the fuck television-boy has instead of a skull. Got it?”
Loud and clear.
Husk grumbled and shuffled out of the bar, Vox in tow, dripping blood and coolant in his wake.
The door closed behind them and Husk took all of two seconds to breathe before whirling around and ramming his knuckles into Vox’s stomach.
Vox grunted and doubled over and caught Husk’s fist during the second swing.
“What is your damn problem?” Vox snapped. “Has Alastor’s leash cut off blood flow to your brain or something? You won! You and your little gang of hotel freaks. Can’t you leave me to stew in my defeat in peace?”
Husk flexed his claws, lips curling back in a snarl. “Release Angel.”
For a moment, Vox looked confused, then he blinked and huffed out a hollow laugh. “That’s what this is about? Angel?” He shook his head with a sneer. “Can’t do that, kitten. He isn’t mine to release.” His smile widened into something nastier. “Besides, he knew what he was signing up to. He knew the terms of Val’s contract. He knew Val well enough.” Sparks leapt between his antennae. “He got what was coming to him.”
Hackles rising, Husk pounced, sending Vox stumbling backwards. Claws raked down Vox’s arms and he let out a yelp, and Husk hissed in agony as the Television Demon let loose another charge that had the street lights around them flickering.
He shoved away from Vox, panting, knees wobbling and muscles twitching, and Vox made a pitiful attempt to straighten his tie and coat and tidy up his torn and blood-stained shirt.
“Well, if it’s alright with you, I’m going to find another place to drown my sorrows and pretend the last three weeks never happened. Good day.”
“I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face in town,” Husk panted as he watched Vox retreat. “Everyone wants you dead.”
“Really?” drawled Vox, rolling his neck stiffly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Why don’t you hide in that ugly tower and drink yourself into a coma there? Do everyone a favour,” Husk said as he stretched his wings out and waited for the last of Vox’s charge to dissipate.
Vox lowered his voice a fraction. “Maybe I want a change in scenery.”
“In that case, the view from the top of the hotel is pretty good. I’ll take you up there if you like. Push you over the edge.”
Vox clicked his tongue and waved a hand at Husk before stalking away, but there was an itch beneath Husk’s skin, a need for justice or revenge or a combination of the two. He took to the air and grabbed Vox by his antennae, startling a yelp out of the other demon.
“Oh, I ain’t done with you yet. You know, I think you looked better without the body.” He pulled and a pained noise tore from Vox’s throat as he clawed at Husk’s hand, and Husk lifted him higher by the antennae until his feet were no longer touching the ground.
A wave of electricity coursed through Husk’s veins and he yelped and dropped the Television Demon, who stumbled, chest heaving as he groaned. He looked exhausted and a vicious part of Husk basked in his discomfort.
He landed and wrapped his claws around Vox’s throat and Vox immediately wrapped his own claws around Husk’s arm.
“I will fry you like a fucking egg if you don’t let go of me,” Vox warned, and the digital lines below his digital eyes were longer than usual, adding extra years onto his screen - which was a weird concept for Husk to get his head around.
Now that Husk had paused long enough to stare, he noticed that Vox’s clothes were ripped in places that he hadn’t touched, and his trousers were crusted with blood and there were bruises at his knuckles. His hat was missing too.
“You look like shit,” Husk informed him.
Vox offered him a wry smile, the expression distorted by his cracked screen. “You think you’re the first guy to take a swing at me? That’s the fifth bar I’ve been kicked out of today. Granted, two of them didn’t let me through the door and then the barkeep swiped my money and kicked my ass in one of them.”
“Deserved,” Husk said and Vox merely rolled his eyes.
Husk pushed his thumb against Vox’s throat, toying with the idea of ripping out a few cables as Vox’s antennae sparked threateningly. A thought niggled at him.
“Why haven’t you gone back to V-Tower?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “Why bar-hop if you keep getting your ass beaten?” He looked around suspiciously. “Why not call your partners to back you up?”
A peculiar expression flashed across Vox’s face before anger replaced it. A shockwave rolled through Husk and he recoiled with a hiss. The scent of smoked meat lingered in the air, making his stomach churn.
“None of your damn business,” grumbled Vox as he straightened out his soiled suit yet again.
The epiphany struck Husk and a grin crawled across his face. “Did they… Did they throw you out?”
Vox shot him an icy glare. “No. They didn’t throw me out. We’re just… taking a collaborative break.”
“Because you’re a bunch of tantrum-throwing toddlers?”
“Because they refused to reattach my fucking body and left my head in a damn storage closet, propped up by a mop bucket-” Vox stopped and closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “We’re facing some… disagreements regarding the future of VoxTek. We’re giving each other time and space to properly consider our current contracts and the vision of the company.”
Husk smirked, tail flicking with amusement. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit for ‘you destroyed the company’s reputation and now your partners are putting you in time-out’.”
Vox stiffened and Husk chuckled at his telling silence.
“Laugh it up,” Vox grumbled. “But we’ll be on top again in no time. You just watch.”
“Please,” scoffed Husk. “The public isn’t stupid enough to put you back on top.” Most of them, anyway.
Vox shook his head and began to walk away from Husk again. “Whatever. If you’ve got nothing interesting to say, I’ll be on my way.”
With an annoyed huff, Husk turned in the opposite direction and made it five steps before a loud bang had him crouching to the ground, wings shielding his body. When no further gunshots sounded, he carefully unraveled his wings and glanced over to the entrance of the bar he had just been thrown out of, to find the rat-like bartender holding a still smoking shotgun and a feral grin lighting his face.
“Damn, that felt good.” He winked at Husk and hummed a jaunty tune as he retreated into the depths of the bar once more and Husk turned slowly to find Vox slumped over the road, screen black and a rather large hole in his chest as pools of dark crimson formed around his body.
For a moment, Husk considered leaving him there. He deserved it. Let someone else deal with the body, or… use it however else they pleased.
Charlie’s patient smile popped into his mind and he ignored it. He continued his journey, deciding that if he wasn’t going to get any drinking done, he might as well return to the hotel.
Charlie’s smile turned reproachful.
He stopped and blinked and shook the image from his head. Vox had ridiculed the hotel, had kidnapped Lucifer, and mocked Charlie. He didn’t deserve her kindness.
He made it seven more steps before her pleading gaze had him whirling around and marching towards Vox’s corpse.
“He wouldn’t do the same for you, y’know,” he told the imagined Charlie. Maybe he was finally losing it. Maybe all that time at the hotel performing as a therapist and getting involved with team-building exercises had finally turned his brain to mush, because the alternative was that he believed in redemption and kindness and a whole lot of other bullshit.
Pentious had miracled his way to Heaven; so what? Just because redemption was possible, that didn’t mean that Husk had what it took. He didn’t want to go to Heaven either. He liked his vices. They kept him busy.
All that to say Vox didn’t deserve kindness and he definitely didn’t deserve a second chance, but Husk knew Charlie well enough to realise that she would be disappointed in him if he left Vox’s corpse strewn across the street, especially when he didn’t have the Vees to rely on.
And the last thing he wanted to do was fail Charlie when he had already failed Angel.
“At least try to look enthusiastic about it,” he told Vox’s dead body, and he shook his head in annoyance when his screen remained dark. “I hope Alastor fucking eats you.”
He carried Vox to the hotel and hoped no one saw him.
- 💙 -
When Vox woke up, it was to tacky decor and dim lights that didn’t look as though they belonged in V-Tower. He also awoke with a burning sensation in his lungs and felt as though he’d been simultaneously suffocated, punched in the chest, and been set on fire after being drowned, which told him that he had died recently.
It had been a long while since he regenerated.
He stretched, letting out a groan as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed he’d been laid upon. He pried his eyes open and looked around himself and froze when he recognised the familiar wall patterns and old-fashioned furniture.
Someone had brought him to the Hazbin Hotel.
He stood, perhaps a little too quickly, and stumbled a little before making a bee-line for the door. He stepped out into a corridor and headed downstairs and it was only when he reached the lobby did he realise that he could transport himself through the lights. He readied himself for dematerialisation, then flinched when a familiar voice called out.
“Leaving so soon? How rude.”
He whirled around to face Alastor, who remained obscured by shadows that seemed darker than usual. His smile shone through them like a malformed crescent moon and Vox eyed the walls warily as the shadows there twisted and rolled in a threatening manner.
He hadn’t been looking for a fight, but it seemed as though he wasn’t getting a choice in the matter.
“Look, someone brought me here. I’m not spying. I’m not… planning anything. I just… I just want to go home,” he said, holding his hands up placatingly. V-Tower was better than staying in Alastor’s territory, even if Valentino and Velvette were ignoring him and treating him like a toddler.
“Oh, I’m quite aware of all that,” Alastor drawled, and Vox shuddered at his tone and took an involuntary step backwards. He hated that Alastor still held this power over him. He hated that he had cried in front of the man. He hated that he had been winning, that he had Alastor exactly where he wanted him, and Velvette and Valentino had ripped his victory away.
He could have finally been free. He could have been free of this useless obsession with the deer. No more fighting, no more pining after a man he could never have, no more coming second place to Alastor, no more being so thoroughly manipulated and outplayed and humiliated…
Granted, it would have killed them both. In that moment, he hadn’t necessarily seen that as a bad thing. He had simply wanted the hurt and anguish to stop. He had wanted to prove Alastor wrong, that he wasn’t worthless or pathetic or a creep or weak. He had wanted the unbearable pain in his chest to stop.
And now that pain was back and nausea came with it, because Alastor had more ammunition to hurt and ridicule him with.
Maybe Alastor had a point. Maybe he was pathetic.
“Husker tells me your little friends have abandoned you,” Alastor purred, his grin widening, pleasure dripping from every syllable. “And I’ve heard rumours that your company is considering a name change.”
Vox tried not to grimace and failed. He glowered at Alastor. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
A chuckle rolled out of Alastor as he stepped gracefully out of the shadows. He was as beautiful as he was deadly and Vox forced himself to look away lest he be wrapped up in his own fantasies again. Seventy years of rivalry and he still couldn’t get Alastor out of his mind. He really was pathetic.
“Hm. Even when the pending name change is announced on one of your own news channels?”
Betrayal lanced Vox’s chest and he looked up quickly, his expression revealing his surprise. Velvette and Valentino had broadcasted that?
Another delighted chuckle tumbled from Alastor’s lips and he smiled lazily at Vox. “There are no friends in Hell, Vox. I thought you’d have learned that by now.”
Vox recoiled, memories of that fateful night in the bar flashing through his processor. He clenched his fists and glared at the man he had once considered his friend, but there was no sharp barb ready to fly off his tongue and his gaze was glassier than he would have liked.
Alastor’s smile turned a touch crueler, his gaze narrowing, and Vox knew him well enough to decipher the genuine anger and loathing dancing behind the mask. “Enjoy your stay, Vincent.”
The old name made Vox flinch and when he next looked up, Alastor was gone.
Time to make his own exit.
He wasn’t sure where he’d go exactly, but anywhere was better than here, under the all-seeing eye of the man he couldn’t seem to escape.
His fists shook as rage and anguish and self-loathing rolled around his stomach like ships on a stormy ocean.
It didn’t matter what he achieved, how high he climbed, or how much power he earned, he would always be worthless in Alastor’s eyes. And the worst part? His need to impress the deer had driven his ambition. Why couldn’t Alastor see what he was capable of? Why couldn’t he see what they could achieve together?
What they could have achieved, back then.
That ship had long since sailed. Alastor had made his disinterest exceptionally clear and apparently, Vox couldn’t take no for an answer. Idiot.
He had been willing to sacrifice Velvette and Valentino to impress Alastor. The Radio Demon was right about him - he was broken. He had a team, he had power, he was on his way to rule Heaven, and he’d thrown it away over someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about him.
Velvette and Valentino had every right to put him in a time-out. He’d be lucky if they didn’t vote him out of the company. Then again, he was pretty certain that their contracts stopped them from being able to do that.
“You’ve regenerated!”
He startled and turned to face Charlie. Damn it, he had lingered too long, stewing in his own self-pity.
“Unfortunately.” Oh, was he meant to say that? That was… new. He was no stranger to a spot of self-loathing, but depression was for other sinners, right?
Charlie seemed to falter at the word too, but her patient smile returned quickly. “Welcome back. Are you planning on staying or… do you have somewhere else to be?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would I consider staying?” He didn’t sound defensive. He didn’t.
She hesitated before clasping her hands together. “Well… Husk tells me that you’ve been thrown out of V-Tower, and after the latest news report, I thought…”
He was going to kill that cat. Pluck all of its feathers out first, then skin the rest of it.
“I assure you, princess,” he said with a condescending smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t need your charity.”
How mortifying. After the way he’d humiliated Charlie and ripped the hotel to shreds on television, and the fact that he had used her father as a battery for his Heaven-destroying weapon, and yet the Princess of Hell was still willing to offer him kindness and compassion.
“It isn’t charity,” Charlie said quietly. “It’s just a bed and a couple of hot meals a day.” Her gaze fell to his chest and for the first time, he realised that someone had changed his clothes into a set with fewer holes and no encrusted blood.
He was wearing a yellow turtleneck sweater.
Could this day get any worse?
“You, uh… You were shot,” Charlie said, brows furrowing.
“I recall that part quite vividly,” Vox said through gritted teeth as he tried not to remember the number of times he had worn this exact outfit when drinking with Alastor, or singing with him whilst the Radio Demon tickled the ivories, or when they were hunting some cocky overlord that had set up shop in their territory, or-
He shook his head, clearing the heartache-inducing memories from his mind. “Well, it’s been a blast.” Poor choice of words. “But I’ve got to go.”
He slipped past her and stiffened when she touched his arm.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “You can stay if you like. If you’ve got nowhere else to go. You’ll be safe here. I don’t allow violence in the hotel.”
He rounded on her. “I don’t need your pity, princess.”
She shrank back for a moment before frowning and straightening. “You don’t deserve my pity. I’m giving you a chance to put things right. To atone for what you did and maybe even redeem yourself. You’re a cruel and horrible man, but I believe that anyone can change if they want to.”
He snapped his mouth shut and blinked at her and for the first time, he saw what he assumed Alastor saw in her. Potential. Potential to lead Hell.
Unlike Alastor, he was tired of manipulating people. At least for now.
A bed and a couple of hot meals sounded nice. A place to hide from Hell’s gun-toting population sounded even nicer. A place to hide from Valentino and Velvette; make them worry. If they cared enough to worry. See how well they did in running the company without him.
“Alright,” he said, reluctantly. “Maybe I could stay for a while.”