Chapter Text
Husk thought, at some point, he must have loved the Shadow. Sometime before the ring and the house by the docks and the girl with the braids, things must have been good. He had been happy, if that was a feeling he was allowed to claim. He had been loud and bright and optimistic. He had fancied himself a bit of an artist at that time, with a rickety sketchbook and a few worn down pencils and hope, not yet worn away. If someone had asked him at that time, to define the feeling of love, he would have drawn them a picture.
He had drawn women, laden in gorgeous gowns and makeup, or bare-skinned, mouths parted and backs arched. He’d drawn small animals, layered them with colour and white spots in their eyes. He’d drawn the girl, once and only once.
There was only one person, however, that he could draw entirely from memory. The Shadow was tall and handsome, and his lips were soft. He used to like kissing him. Husk used to trace the lines of his face, learn the shape of him by touch and by sight while sitting straddled in his lap. He compared colours with lipstick kisses across his skin. He measured and scaled each detail along the lengths of his fingers. He could draw the Shadow from any angle, and he would have drawn him in an instant if someone asked him about love.
Love was sunlight shaped backwards. It was the shade of a man kneeling, spread out on white and red kitchen tiles. It blurred at the edges, sharpened at the heart and vanished with the glow that guided it. It moved in tandem with its weilder, but swallowed and consumed itself with every turn and wave. Love was darkness weakened. In the right light, with the right proximity, two hearts could be joined. The right angle, a decision, a step, was all it took to break them apart again. Love was consumption, carefully directed. Husk used to be content consuming. He used to enjoy being consumed. If only the Shadow had felt the same.
Love was a contract. It was a leash around his neck and claws against his cheek, dragging him from hurt to hurt. It had always been his mistake, to give up that control over his heart, over his autonomy. He wasn’t sure, if things were repeated, that he’d have the strength to choose any differently. He always was a careless gambler.
Love was a bottle and a burn. Finite and fleeting, he could dive and soar within the buzz of it until the shadows returned and he lost himself to oblivion.
Love was pink and soft and sharp. Love was something old, something borrowed, something broken.
He supposed, if he hadn’t loved the Shadow, he wouldn’t have ended up at the kitchen table, a shattered mug in his hands, staring at a circle of light.
The lights above the kitchen table were too bright. Or at least that’s what the Shadow thought. Husk liked to watch the diamond reflections glint against the surface of the kitchen table. He tapped his nails against the black acrylic panes and chased the bright across the cool. It was nice to be able to move, when the Shadow was talking. It was nice to drown out the quiet and track the blank spaces with his eyes. The Shadow used to say that he was too easily distracted: like a cat to a laser. He used to call Husk “Kitten”.
If he hadn’t loved the Shadow, he wouldn’t have allowed that.
The lights shone and spun overhead.
He had promised himself a long time ago that he would never love someone enough that they could hurt him. He’d said it aloud as the murky cup of tea went cool in his hands and the Shadow loomed across the table, ever reaching. At some point, the Shadow pried it from his hands and pried the words from his mouth. Again and again, the sensation repeated, wet and warm, lips to lips. He froze. The Shadow did not. It set the kettle on the stove to heat and hiss until the smoke swept the room and dashed his vision clear. He didn’t know why. The mug was shattered across the table. It would no longer hold or be held. A vessel without a purpose. He raked a hand across his face as the Shadow raked its claws across his mouth. Still, he didn’t drink.
If he drank, he knew it would taste like blood.
Waking came with that familiar stiffness of the joints that he knew all too well. The kind of stiffness that froze you, and begged you to reach into your skin, past tissue and muscles and whatever else a less-than-human body was made up of. If he just removed every bone and joint, tore it free and replaced it, then perhaps the pain would cease. Numbness was preferable, loss was the fantasy. Husk rolled onto his back. It didn’t hurt any less.
Sunlight reflected pink off the ornaments hanging by the window, through the silky sheer curtains and over onto the bed. In the heavy sunlight of mid-morning, the room looked far more lived-in than before. Clothes and towels scattered the floor, clumped up in piles where feet had kicked them from harm's way. Black boot heels leaned against the pretty pink bookshelf, which Husk doubted would ever be used to carry actual books. An empty bottle sat on the bedside table, and a glass lay on its side on the vanity.
Husk was used to sleeping in rooms far less lived in than this. He supposed, in his early adult life, he’d become used to the silent kind of room – rooms that were for sleeping and fucking, and not much else. His kind of rooms were the ones easily vacated, easily abandoned, easily forgotten. They were never meant to be inviting. He’d spent enough time crawling out of windows to know where he truly belonged.
Angel shifted in his sleep, bare shoulders scrunched up against his jaw. The covers had slipped during the night, revealing the long and toned expanse of his upper back. Several jagged scratches, no doubt from nails breaking skin, were littered, red and healing, along his spine. It seemed that the pink dots that adorned Angel’s chest and shoulders extended down his back too. The splashes of colour across his fluff and fur made the white seem brighter, as though it could almost glow in time with the morning sun.
Angel flinched and the covers tugged again as his third pair of arms appeared of their own accord and wrapped around his middle, palms against his lower back. Husk didn’t look away as he reached out to pull the duvet back up over Angel’s shoulders. He shuddered and relaxed beneath the soft weight, his breath evening out. Husk matched his breathing with the other. It was easier than counting out the seconds, the minutes until the moment fell apart.
Angel didn’t so much stir awake as he did stiffen. He awoke with the air of a man trying to make himself small as the blurring remains of his thoughts and memories reformed before his eyes.
“Husk?” Angel whispered, not turning over. It was a guilty voice, the voice of a man who had done wrong, but was pretending otherwise.
It was so fucking familiar.
It was fine.
Husk sighed and sat up, legs hanging from the edge of the bed. “Yes, Angel?”
“Please, get out.”
So polite. You could learn a thing or two.
Husk turned to look at him again. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”
“Get the fuck out of my room, Husker.”
It stung. The guiltless guilt stung. It was a headwound and a hangover and the needling burn of addiction.
“Yeah, sure,” Husk whispered. “Whatever.”
The door slammed behind him – he had slammed it – and he found himself leaning heavily against the wall with a poisonous weight on his tongue. The shadows stirred. The Shadow was laughing at him. The Shadow was telling him to smile.
The bar was as clean as he left it. He reached for a cloth to wipe it down again. He didn’t know when he started drinking. It was probably around the time the Shadow started singing.
Alcohol was settling on an open wound, not disinfecting or healing, but burning nonetheless.
It was just a kiss. Why did it unravel him so easily?
One part of him wanted to tear his skin from his body to rid it of the touch. Another wanted something else entirely. Husk was nothing if not multifaceted.
Up in the bedroom, when nighttime was still grasping to reality and Angel had touched him, there had been an old name on his lips. It would have been so easy to say it. It would have felt just like home. It made him sick, the thought that he would let himself fall back into the same old cycle. He really hadn’t changed. He would have fallen back into those arms, that bed, that life without a drop of hesitation, given up the freedom for just a taste of familiarity. He would have spat on the legacy of the girl, whose name he no longer deserved to covet. He traded his backbone for an unwanted kiss from an intoxicated man and once again, all he got out of it was regret and regret and regret.
They called him “kitten” for a reason. Sickly sweet and pleading, he would crawl back from the depths of abandonment for an honest touch. Little did he know that kindness bred dishonesty and a pet, trained to appease, could rarely tell the difference between craving and candor. That’s why he was Alastor’s now. Alastor knew exactly what Husk was. He knew the cool and sharp exterior and he knew the foolish heart that lay beneath and he had been the only one to notice all the little cracks, reach through and squeeze. Alastor called him a pet because that’s what he was. At least a personhood sold cannot be stolen. At least he got a prize for shedding his humanity. He didn’t used to. He did now.
When the door creaked open, Husk almost convinced himself that it was the Radio Demon himself walking through it. Of course, it was not.
The fallen angel – Emily – entered the lobby with the same wary manner as the night before. Their eyes locked. She smiled.
“I tried to sleep,” she shrugged. “Turns out the burning Hellfire thing may just be the brightness of your sun.”
He chuckled, a hoarse sound, shattered glass against steel. “You’re right there. You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
She was different. She held herself differently, straight-backed and curious.
“Will toast do?”
She shrugged. “Whatever is easiest. Hey, can I ask you something?”
He slid the bread into the toaster. “Sure.”
“Charlie gave me a phone, but she didn’t tell me the passcode.”
Husk snorted. Of course she didn’t.
“I’d try just four zeros, that’s what she had mine as.”
“Oh, you got one too?”
“Yeah, don’t look for any kinda tutorial from me though, I only use it for texting. Don’t know how half those buttons work.”
“Ah, well,” she sighed. “I guess I’ll figure it out as I go.”
“How are you settling in?”
She flinched, almost imperceptibaly.
“Oh, you know,” she said airily. “Getting used to it all.”
“I’m sure.”
Her toast popped and he shoved her plate across the counter towards her. She picked up the first and began to nibble at the crust.
“Tell me about Hell?”
“Are all Angels this curious?”
“I’m not an Angel anymore,” she shot back coolly. “And no, they’re not.”
“Fair.” He couldn’t help but be impressed. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Assuming I know absolutely nothing, what would be good to know?”
The clicking of heels against the wooden floorboards made them turn. Angel was awake and painted.
“Trust no one, avoid the overlords and the bad boys that offer you power and fame, and dress like you’re hiding knives in your pockets,” he drawled, eyeing Emily carefully. “And try not to pick up any STDs along the way.”
Husk had to admire the way Emily straightened up to her full height to face him, holding out her hand.
“Angel Dust, nice to finally meet you. I’m Emily.”
Angel’s grin split into something almost real and he took her hand. “Nice to meet ya, Emily.”
“Did you sleep well?” she asked. There was something surreal about watching her put on this mask, playing a character in such a poised and put together way after they had all seen her break down in the lobby only hours before.
Angel’s eyes flickered towards Husk for just a moment, but then he looked away again.
“Well enough,” he murmured.
“Angel?” Husk cringed as all eyes fell upon him. “Would you like some toast?”
Angel’s lips curled. “No, thank you.”
Husk forced himself not to roll his eyes.
“So, fallen Angel, huh?” Angel leaned against the bar with practiced ease. “You one of the ones sending Adam and his crew after us every year?”
Emily’s expression flashed with the first genuine emotion Husk had seen since she approached the bar.
“Angel,” Husk muttered in warning, but before he could say anything else, Emily cut him off.
“If I was, I doubt I would be down here right now.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry ya got stuck down here with us then. Real shame actually. You’re not careful and someone might try to take you out, and not in a fun way.”
“I think I’ll be just fine. I survived the journey here, didn’t I?”
The only warning Husk had before Alastor blurred into existence against the bar was a slight tug around his throat.
“Just about, my dear,” the Radio Demon chuckled. “My usual, Husker.”
Husk flinched and Angel reached out to brush the tips of his fingers against his knuckles.
It would have been so easy to let him fall back into that touch.
No.
Husk drew his hand back out of reach.
Angel didn’t get to pretend Husk was consumable. There was nothing left. Nothing left to give.
“Oh,” Alastor giggled – he fucking giggled – watching them with a clear expression of mirth. “And there I was going to ask about trouble in paradise. I see you two haven’t made up from your little spat this morning.”
Angel made a soft choking noise and Husk felt his shoulders tense and his mouth click closed.
“I’m sorry?” Angel asked dangerously.
“You are forgiven,” Alastor replied easily. “Watching dear Husker whining like a kitten outside your door this morning more than made up for whatever you must apologise for.” Husk didn’t even try to stop him from reaching across the bar to pet one of his ears. “I would remind you, however, that it is ill-advised to damage my things. And Husker remains my pet, just as you remain Valen–”
“Watching my bedroom, Al?” Angel interrupted. “Didn’t take you for a voyeur. You know, for you, I’m happy to put on a little show. Ya just gotta ask.”
“Ha. No.”
“Your loss. I could do it right here in the lobby. I ain’t shy.”
“Angel,” Husk growled.
“Enough,” Alastor raised a hand. “Your comprehension of consent may be defective, as you have proved on a regular basis since making yourself at home here, however do not forget that you are powerless to an Overlord like myself. Do take care. I would show no remorse in reminding you of your place, forcefully if I must.”
Angel gritted his teeth slightly, fists clenching on the bar.
“Do I make myself clear, Angel Dust?” Alastor crooned.
“Crystal,” Angel muttered.
“Wonderful.” Alastor took his drink and slid into his seat by the fireplace. “Husker, I have a few errands for you to run after lunch. Make space in your schedule.”
“Yes, boss.”
Errands could mean anything from murder to grocery shopping. Husk didn’t much care what it was so long as he could get the fuck out of this hotel.
“Umm,” Emily was fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. “Could I get some ice for my drink?”
Husk took her glass back and shoveled a small handful of ice shards into the juice. She thanked him quietly as she sipped it.
“So,” Angel finally turned away from glaring at the back of Alastor’s armchair. “Why’d they kick you out?”
“Angel.” Vaggie had trudged into the room, looking dissheveled and exhausted. “Leave it.”
“What? We’re all wondering,” Angel pouted.
“No, it’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “I… umm… Like I said, a technicality. Anyway…” She knocked back the end of her drink. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I can learn so much here, and then when I go back to Heaven, I can tell them how to fix it.”
Vaggie hopped up onto the barstool beside her, resting her chin on her hands. “I think we’re past Heaven fixing anything at this point.”
“I disagree,” Emily replied, without hesitation. “Hell isn’t at all like they told us. That has to count for something.”
Angel scoffed. “I really doubt that.”
“Everyone has only been kind to me so far,” Emily shot back.
Husk cut in before Angel could snap back at her. “You haven’t exactly got the average experience of Hell. The hotel isn’t the best place to make educated generalisations about the kindness of Sinners.”
“I’ve met more than just you,” Emily argued, though a pinkish flush had warmed her face. “Do you really believe you are the only good ones in Hell?”
“Jokes on you,” Husk muttered. “I’m not good. Neither is anyone in this hotel. Some’re just better at hiding it.”
“Speak for yourself, Husker.” Alastor dropped his glass back on the bar for a refill. “I’ve been told I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“Al, you’re a serial killer,” Vaggie groaned.
“And you helped commit genocide against my people. I fear everyone has their flaws.” He turned, patting Emily on the shoulder with the very tips of his gloved fingers. “Regardless, I doubt you will be returning to those pearly gates any time soon, so best to get used to blood and hellfire with haste, my good woman.”
“Yeah,” Angel grinned. “Best thing to do if you’re outside here is to not interact with anyone you don’t want something from. We don’t really do the smile and nod thing on the street. People generally assume you wanna get dirty with them, or ya want to kill them. Tell em to piss off. Or shoot them. Either works.”
“I don’t know,” Emily shrugged, glancing towards Vaggie, who was chugging back her second cup of coffee. “I think I might just stick around here for the time being anyway.”
“And what better place to be?” Alastor winked. “After all, we wouldn't want you to go missing, would we?
“I’d like to have all the information before I try to look around, you know? That way, I can blend in better.”
“And perhaps you can offer us some information in return. After all, what better way to learn to protect ourselves from Heaven, when we have a Seraph at our disposal?”
“Al,” Angel said, arms folded, expression stern.
“What? I am simply being strategic. We all know you are not the brains of the operation here.”
“You calling me dumb, Smiles?”
Alastor grinned. “You tell me.”
“That’s enough,” Husk cut in.
“You think so, Husker?” Alastor crooned. “I think he can take it.”
“I can take my fair share,” Angel growled. “Real question is, Smiles, if you think you can take me.”
He had discarded his glass on the bar, arms folded across his middle, expression fierce. Husk felt something twist in his gut. He shoved the feeling underwater until its last bubbles of air reached the surface and it laid limp.
“Umm,” Emily glanced between the two as she let her glass hit the bar with a thunk. “I don’t really want to talk about Heaven right now, but maybe another time. But I really think Heaven and Hell can come together peacefully. If I can just convince them…”
“That didn’t turn out so well for us last time, kid,” Husk interrupted, still unable to tear his eyes away from Alastor, who was looking at Angel like he wanted to consume him.
Emily sighed, oblivious. “No. I know. But nobody wants a war. I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”
“Emily! Hey!” Charlie’s arrival was heralded, as usual, with a level of energy and boundless optimism far too positive for one woman. “How did you sleep? Was the bed comfortable enough? Oh, are you hungry? You probably haven’t eaten since you arrived. Maybe Alastor could cook us up something? Or, no, you have toast. That’s good! Do you want something else too? We can get you whatever. Whatever you need.”
“Charlie,” Vaggie said fondly, rising from her seat to wrap her excitable girlfriend in her arms. “Give her a second.”
“Hey Charlie,” Emily chuckled, then her eyes lit up. “Actually, I wanted to share some ideas with you, for the hotel. And maybe you could help explain how things work in Hell. I really want to help. I woke up early this morning, so I made a list of things.” She began to rummage in her pockets, presumably looking for said ‘list of things’. “If you could explain them, maybe I could take notes and…”
“Hmm,” Alastor murmured so only Husk could hear. “So there’s two of them, now.”
“After breakfast,” Vaggie said firmly. “You need more than toast, and we all need to sit down together, on the same level for once. What do people want?”
“We’ve got toast, scones or leftover mystery stew,” Husk said. He assumed Alastor would send him off to pick up more ingredients soon, but he wasn’t about to volunteer himself.
Charlie grimaces politely. “Well, maybe not the stew.”
“How many times do I have to say?” Alastor pouted. “There is no Sinner meat in the stew.”
“Funny how you can never say the same about the Exorcists,” Vaggie muttered, shooting him a suspicious glare.
Alastor grinned at her behind Charlie’s back.
Husk knew for a fact that the only meat in that stew was venison, not that Alastor hadn’t cooked his fair share of Exorcist meat since the battle. He was just far too much of a self-proclaimed “foodie” to share such high-end products with those who wouldn’t appreciate it. He stored most of it up in his Cannibal Town residence, and had been having frequent dinner dates with Rosie.
“I’m sure it’s excellent, Al,” Charlie rushed to appease the Radio Demon. “But, well, it’s not really a breakfast meal. Scones are nice though!”
Husk’s ears picked up the almost-nonexistent buzz of Angel’s phone as though that were their only purpose. He appreciated that nobody commented when his head snapped up in that direction so fast that he cricked his neck.
“Sorry, Charlie,” Angel sighed, as Husk rubbed his neck and cursed under his breath. “I have to go.”
He stared down at his phone, brow furrowed as text after text pinged through.
Charlie’s face fell. “Really? But you’re only just back. I had a getting-to-know-each-other exercise planned. We had two new guests join us yesterday before Emily arrived.”
“Sorry, Charlie.”
“No. That’s okay. We’ll just wait till you’re free.”
“You don’t have to…”
“No, we will! You’re a part of this family too,” she said firmly. “We want you to be here. You know what? We can help people to decorate their rooms instead. You’ve already done that, so you won’t miss out.”
Angel’s expression softened. “Thanks, Charlie.”
“Of course.”
Then the King fell from the balcony and landed on his face in the middle of the lobby. If Husk hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed Alastor nearly glitching out of existence in shock.
“Morning!” Lucifer called, scraping himself off the floor and skipping to the bar.
Alastor groaned. “Husker, a word?”
Husk glanced around to see that everyone else was too distracted by the appearance of the King to notice and then trudged after Alastor towards the kitchen. As he slid into a stool by the sink, Alastor tipped the door shut with the toe of his shoe and it clicked locked behind him. As he watched, Alastor flicked his wrist and a nearby glass filled to the brim with golden-brown salvation. Husk tipped his head back and let it burn its way down his throat.
“What do you want?” Husk muttered as he slammed the glass back onto the counter with slightly more force than necessary.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
Husk blinked. “What?”
Alastor leaned against the counter, hip popped, staff twirling in his grip.
“I know a relapse when I see one, Husker.”
“Who said I’ve been trying to get clean?” Husk frowned at his empty glass, praying it would fill back up again, even though he knew it wouldn’t. “I’m not here for redemption. And you’ve never cared how much I drank as long as I get the job done.”
“I’m not talking about the drink,” Alastor said lightly. “The way you left Angel’s room this morning… I haven’t seen that person in almost twenty-five years.”
A blanket of cold settled in Husk’s chest.
“If I told you it was none of your business, would you leave me be?”
“Why of course not.”
Husk sighed. The sink was piled high with dishes. He would have to deal with that when breakfast was finished, when Charlie and Vaggie were busy with therapy and redemption activities, when Niffty was on her rampage through the bedrooms of the hotel.
When Angel left.
“Did he force himself on you?”
Husk recoiled. “No!”
“No?” Alastor asked, a patronising drawl to his voice.
“No,” Husk repeated, more quietly. Alastor’s shadows joined the Shadow in the corners of his vision and he squeezed the glass the tiniest bit tighter.
“Are you quite sure?”
“It was just a fucking kiss.” Husk gritted his teeth and raised his chin to stare the demon down. “You know, it’s getting kind of insulting, you thinking I couldnta stopped him if I wanted to.”
Alastor looked down at him with that same stupid pitying smile. “Did you want to?”
“I did stop him,” Husk snarled.
Alastor raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, old pal, don’t bite my head off.”
“Then stop fucking babying me.”
Eyes narrowed, Alastor waved his hand and the shadows vanished, swirling back around and within him.
“Fine. If that’s what you would like, then get back to work.” He turned away, moving towards the door, and then he stopped, turning sharply in place. “And stop flinching.”
The space between sunlight swallowed Alastor whole as he vanished out of sight.
The Shadow crooned softly from the corner. Husk curled his claws into his hair and tugged.
Don’t cry, Kitten.
“Yeah, yeah,” Husk muttered, pushing himself upright against the counter. “Go fuck yourself.”