Chapter Text
Just one time in his afterlife, Husk would have liked to hear a genuine apology come out of the Radio Demon’s mouth.
Nothing spectacular. No fireworks and bent knee theatrics, with Alastor holding a boom box above his head, begging for Husk’s forgiveness – that wasn’t necessary. Not for Husk. He was a simple man, at his core. He could’ve done with a quick “whoops, sorry I burnt the feathers off the tip of your tail while conjuring unholy green fire that is ghastly even by Hellish standards,” or “sorry for being an abomination of a man who genuinely takes pleasure in people’s suffering like the actual psychopath that I am and laughed when Vaggie dropped a hammer on your head while trying to hang a banner from the balcony again,” or even just “oh, sorry you went out of your way to run an errand that didn’t actually need to be run.”
Any of that would’ve been great.
But no. Husk just wasted his entire afternoon (that could’ve been spent finding the bottom of a bottle, thank you very much) searching for almond milk and all Alastor had to offer when they both learned that Charlie had sworn off it for ethical reasons (“Oh, no! I just learned about the environmental impact of almond milk – I can’t keep drinking it and try to redeem souls at the same time!”) was a tight little smile and a sad trombone blat. Not even an acknowledgement that Husk had to go to some weird fucking places to find the little carton of nut juice (Husk fucking dared anyone to stay in a good mood after spending half an hour in the city’s only “natural foods” grocery store) because Alastor thought it would help him ingratiate himself even further with the Princess of Hell.
Probably. It wasn’t like Alastor told Husk any of his plans.
Husk aggressively flipped him off before stalking back behind the bar to glower at Alastor from a safe distance – not that any distance was exactly safe when the bastard could just dip into the shadows and pop up behind a person like a demonic Jack-In-The-Box, demented smile and everything. And, because he was just that kind of guy, Alastor occasionally threw simpering little looks in his direction. Just to piss Husk off more than he already was.
What a guy.
So, when Angel Dust finally slunk into the Hotel with his proverbial tail between his legs, Husk was not precisely in the best headspace to do much besides slinging booze.
“You look rough,” he said with an equally rough edge to his voice as Angel slumped down on the barstool across from him. “Who the fuck kicked your ass today?”
And, yeah, he heard it, too. He fucking heard himself say as he did and, despite the mental gymnastics he attempted to make himself shut up, it came out anyways. So, Husk stilled (even stopped wiping down the glass in his hands as if he stopped moving, Angel might not be able to see him anymore) and waited for the inevitable repercussions.
Angel Dust did not let him down.
“Say that again?” he demanded, narrowing his eyes at the bartender. Well, one eye. The other was blackened and already swollen shut, but Husk had no doubt that the other one would’ve narrowed as well. If it could have.
“Uh… you look like you had a rough shift,” Husk attempted to amend his statement. Angel held up a single finger and Husk swallowed.
“No, you actually asked who kicked my ass today with a fucking tone.” In the distance, behind Angel, Husk could see Alastor slowly turn his head to face them as his grin widened just a little. “What’s your problem? Am I not the only who got fucked over today?”
“I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Husk tried really fucking hard to ignore the Radio Demon as he slowly made his way over to the bar, hands tucked primly behind his back (sans his microphone which Husk had not failed to notice he was missing). “Here, look. I’ll make you a drink or something, okay?”
Angel scowled. “I think I’ve had too shitty of a day to deal with whatever… this is tonight.”
Husk let his shoulders slump as Angel got up and left, casting a dirty look over his shoulder at Alastor. Which was good, Husk supposed – at least he recognized that the cause of Husk’s sour mood was the monstrosity currently perching himself on a barstool at Husk’s bar (a man ought to have one thing of his own, right?). Alastor gave Angel a tiny wave (more of a waggle of his fingers, really, just to add bit more fuel to the fire) and turned his attention to Husk.
“Oh, dear, Husk. Today’s errands have made you quite the sourpuss, haven’t they?”
“I had to shop in a natural foods grocery, asshole.” Husk stabbed a finger at Alastor’s face. “You know what those fucking places are like and then she didn’t even fucking want it!”
“A woman’s prerogative, I’m afraid.”
Husk snarled. “I’m done running fucking errands for you just so that you can keep weaseling your way in with Charlie. You do your own legwork next time.”
Alastor hummed dismissively. “But that’s what I have you for, Husker.”
“Fuck you.” And then Husk made a very stupid decision. “Why exactly couldn’t you do it yourself again? Too afraid to head out in the real world after your fight with Adam?”
“What?” Alastor blinked with obvious surprise, his posture shifting quickly from loosey-goosey to… whatever the opposite of loosey-goosey was (righty-tighty… maybe? That somehow didn’t seem right, but Husk was too pissed to think straight right now, as evidenced by his current and ongoing bout of word vomit).
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that your cane is missing,” Husk barreled on, heedless of the sudden spike in the ambient static in the room. “You’re just being extra-strength bastard because you’re pissed you got your ass kicked by that overgrown piece of–”
At least, this time, Alastor didn’t yank him around by his chain. Which always just added a special layer of humiliation to any interaction they had that went south. No, this time he simply reached out and slammed Husk’s head down onto the bar top, pinning him in place with a sharp clawed hand wrapped around one of Husk’s ridiculously soft ears. Husk tasted blood and couldn’t quite stop the whimper that slipped out of his mouth.
“I’m not in the mood for your insubordination,” Alastor hissed, tilted his head on his neck unnaturally and Husk’s tail tucked up between his legs before he could stop it. The Radio Demon stared at him as the room slowly darkened until all that Husk could see were the glowing dials in Alastor’s eyes. “Tell me, Husk – how would you like to be punished this time?”
“S-sorry,” Husk stuttered out, knowing better than to try to twist himself free.
A trail of dark blood oozed from Alastor’s mouth and Husk squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pain that was about to come crashing down on him. After a few seconds, he felt Alastor’s fingers loosen on his ear before letting him go completely. He waited another second before daring to open his eyes to find Charlie and Vaggie watching their little exchange with horrified expressions. Alastor patted Husk’s head, and Husk did his level best not to flinch bodily against the bar.
“Nothing to worry about here,” Alastor chirped pleasantly, and Husk slowly stood upright. He ran his tongue along his teeth and felt exactly which one Alastor had broken when he slammed the former Overlord against the bar top. “Just a little conversation between two old friends.”
“Alastor,” Charlie said quietly, and Husk glanced down to avoid eye contact. “Why is Husk bleeding?”
“Oh, dear – so he is!” Alastor tapped the bar top. “Best go see to that, Husk.”
Husk nodded quickly and backed away, trying to untuck his tail despite its every effort to stay firmly anchored between his legs.
“Husk, wait–”
“Bar’s closed!” Husk hurried out from behind the bar. No sense in trying to stick around if Alastor was going to let him go without punishing him for his smart mouth. Without a backwards glance, he walked swiftly out of the lobby and only broke into a run once he was back in the hallway where nobody else would see him.
Husk rushed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and breathed heavily for a few minutes while he tried to convince his heart not to stop. Once he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to collapse, he walked over to his private stash of cheap, gut-rotting booze and wrenched the cork out of the bottle with his claws. Then he proceeded to tilt his head back and let the liquid burn its way down his throat, straight to his stomach.
“Fuck,” he hissed and tossed the empty bottle away. Looks like it was a three-bottle kind of night (he hadn’t had one of those in a while, so he was probably due for one soon anyways).
Which was fine. Fucking fine.
He poured the next bottle down his throat and staggered a few steps before the empty bottle slipped through his loose fingers and shattered on the floor beside him. Oh. Fuck. Had he let his tolerance lower while he was inadvertently “improving” himself?
He… he should probably not be standing anymore.
Husk swayed and fell fast first onto the twin bed that he slept in because, even though the rest of the Hotel was equipped with queen-sized beds, Alastor was the kind of dick that wanted Husk to join him in an eternity of forced celibacy. Or, at least, didn’t want Husk to ever be able to fuck in his own fucking bed.
The room continued to spin as he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Smacked his lips and felt the burn of cheap booze on his tongue. There was a better than good chance that the bottle he had just chugged with the sole purpose of getting shitfaced was going to end up in the toilet (and not going in the natural direction, oh no), but that didn’t matter because he was shitfaced now and everyone could get fucked for all he cared.
Dimly, he could hear the lightbulb buzzing in the socket of the bedroom’s lone (and sad, so fucking sad, holy shit why was a single lamp so fucking sad?) lamp and tried to make a mental note to find a better lamp in the supply closet in the morning, but it crumpled itself up in his head before he could fasten it to anything to help him remember. A shimmering golden light flashed in the room, faint sparkles crackling along it edges (or sparks, maybe they were sparks, and the lamp was about to short out and set the entire room – maybe the entire Hotel? – on fire; ah, but a man could dream). Husk blinked and wondered how long it would take the smoke detector to go off. Burning to death would be pretty awful (and, oddly enough, one of the few deaths in Hell that Husk had yet to experience), but he’d probably asphyxiate first, so that was mildly comforting.
With that thought, Husk proceeded to pleasantly black-out.
For a while. At least, he assumed it was a while. By the time awareness began to creep back in, he was curled on his side, pressed into a cocoon of his own wings and with a crick in his neck stiff enough to make him wince before he even opened his eyes. One would think that after nearly a year of sleeping on the world’s thinnest mattress, he’d have learned not to fall into bed without taking preemptive aspirin. Shit.
He gingerly unfolded his wings, letting the top one droop behind him as the early morning light began to filter in red-black swirls through his eyelids. Giving it a small shake, he was relieved that, at the very least, his wings weren’t too stiff (this wing, fuck knew what the one he was sleeping on was like; probably fucking immobile by now and he’d be dragging it all lopsided around behind him for the rest of the day like an idiot).
Husk sniffed the air and froze.
Instead of the now-familiar scent of bleach and roach repellant, he could detect traces of soft lavender, woody cedar, and cool mint. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t exactly alarming. It was nice. Husk liked it. Really liked it – would’ve picked something like it if he had the ability to choose what he wanted his bedroom to smell like. Comforting and refreshing, far removed from the grit and grime of the last twenty years under Alastor’s thumb.
Actually… it was exactly what his bedroom smelled like once upon a time.
He jolted upright in the bed, an onslaught of information swarming his already too-hungover brain. Attempting to roll over, to get the fuck out of this bed that was very definitely not his bed, he tried really fucking hard not to yelp when he ended up bumping against another demon in the bed. Said demon grunted with what Husk assumed was surprise, and a set of hands caught him around the waist. He struggled a little but quickly found himself dragged on top of the other man, his face heating up when he realized he was pressed up again the demon’s early morning… uh, very ready-to-go anatomy.
“Husk, baby,” Angel rasped, blinking blearily up at him. A second set of hands came to rest immediately on Husk’s ass and his jaw dropped. “Are you feeling frisky this morning?”
“Uh…” Husk replied eloquently and tried to squirm away, wings flapping above him. He inadvertently ground himself against Angel and squeezed his eyes shut, praying without hope that the spider demon somehow didn’t fucking notice.
Angel chuckled. “Well, if you’re in the mood, I guess you’re in the mood, sweet cheeks.”
“Uh, that’s not–”
Angel squeezed his ass and this time, Husk did yelp. In a manfully way, of course. He opened his eyes, face hot with embarrassment, and Angel grinned sharply up at him. “Don’t let anyone say I don’t take care of my man.”
Okay, but… what the fuck?