Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ah, it was as repose as it could ever be considered, in a place such as Hell.

The scarlet hues of the sky affronted by the clouds of ash that embed themselves into the desolate view. A startling sight, but one that the people can gradually get accustomed to.

An unsightly tower juts into the serenity of the sky, its crimson colours blending into the background, and its jagged, debilitated structure looks as though it was stuck hazardously onto what stood below. The windows tinted cerise, and within echoed a sound that broke the deafening silence.

“…Crap…!”

Alastor grit his teeth in anguish, hurling insults into the abyss in a desperate attempt to numb the aching pain that blossomed across his lower chest area. A wide gash, raking across his shoulder to opposite hip, seemed to be the cause of his profound frustration. A wispy string of thread, radiating an ominous neon green, attached to a needle, works its way through his emaciated form.

As Alastor wrestled with the needle, attempting to finish his, quite frankly, perilous method of healing himself, the sudden sound of sluggish footsteps could be distinctly heard trudging along the spiral staircase, coincidentally leading up to the very room the radio demon resided in.  His ears perked up in alarm, eyes widening as he scrambled to collect the scattered assortments of medical equipment on the floor (or, to put it mildly, what Alastor considered medical equipment, which more likely resembled a sewing box) and make the room look fairly… normal.

Inevitably, however, the deer’s heel slid on a rather large roll of thread, and in the midst his panic ended up sprawling face-first on the splintered floorboards. Groaning in irritation, he slowly lifted his face off the ground, in concordance to the shrill noise of the deteriorating door to his radio tower swinging open.

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Husk really isn’t paid enough to care.

Truth be told, he isn’t paid anything at all, courtesy of having your soul owned by one of Hell’s most notorious overlords, but no matter, his point still stands.

Honestly, his afterlife would be so much easier if he could just wallow in his own misery, the only sight being the bottom of a shot glass, or maybe just toss him the whole bottle of whiskey to chug, much better.

Point is, Husk doesn’t give a flying crap about anyone else’s feelings, or whether this grubby hotel still stood another extermination, or whether Angel Dust was still alive to make another crude joke… hang on a second.

Now, it almost sounds like the old cat’s in denial about his true feelings, but he can assure you, he’s lost all ability to care for anyone the day he ended up in this hellhole.

…Right?

It must be all those redemption lessons taking their toll on him, he’s too sober to sort through all these complicated emotions. A nice finger of rye would do the trick, though he was sure he’d need a couple before he’d even begin to feel drunk.

He swiftly drew the bottle from the cabinet with calculated precision, remembering to grab a shot glass and pour the drink into it instead of directly downing the bottle itself. This unfortunate predicament ensured due to the last time Charlie chastised him for doing it, telling him how it was, finger quotes, “unsanitary”, and how Lucifer, after seeing Husk perform it in action, was trying to avoid visiting the bar…

…Hold it.

Since when did he ever listen to what the Princess asked of him? Her words always went in one ear and out the other, either that or he purposefully tuned out her ramblings.

Damn, he really needed this drink.

Filling the glass, its pouring came to a stop not even halfway through the crystalware, prompting a gruff voice of complaint from the alcoholic.

The rye was not near enough to make him even a little bit tipsy, let alone drunk enough to pass out. Doesn’t matter, he’ll pick something else out, why not take a shot of bourbon for a change?

Just as Husk was doing the right thing and minding his own business by refilling the glass with bourbon, Charlie bursts out from around the wall’s corner, with a clipboard in hand and eager smile etched on her face.

Ah, here we go.

“Hi Husk! So, ever since the hotel got reconstructed I’ve kinda been going around checking if everything’s up to date, and so far the bar is the next station on my to-do list!” She took a deep intake of air, before spiralling once again.

“Okay, so how’s the bar been doing? Sorry, that was rude of me, I should’ve asked how you’ve been doing first! So how have you been? How the bar been treating YOU?” She waited expectantly for an answer.

Husk gravelly responded, “Afternoon, Princess. Bar needs a refill on rye, nothin’ more. And you’re good.” He waved her off, her subtle hint of worry being replaced by a bright beam.

“That’s great! I’ve actually been meaning to get Alastor out of being cooped up in his room all day, so it’d be great if you could go and ask him for a refill on that alcohol!” And just as Husk was about to object to her decision, she scribbled on the clipboard, tongue poking out in concentration, and skipped off merrily, already focused on her next task.

He groaned in agitation, sliding his palm down his face and at the same time contemplating his life choices that lead him up to this very moment. Why did it have to be him, out of all people, being tasked with manning the bar? For God’s sake, it was probably the Boss’ fault in the first place that the hotel currently lacked rye whiskey, the old chap loved the stuff, the same old chap that landed him in this current predicament in the first place. When he first arrived, he didn’t even have enough time to properly mourn the impressive victory he was about to pull for that gambling round before he was abruptly dragged to this blasted hotel, sigh.

Better get this whole ordeal over with.

If this is the last time he walks upon this damned landscape, bury him next to some cheap booze. Maybe he can take it to the next afterlife or whatever, if there even is one after Hell.

He hastily began his journey upstairs, dreading every footfall that bounced off the walls, the creaking of the withering floorboards letting out a shriek of desperation, as though they were warning him of the agony that would ensue if he kept heading in that same direction.

Stubbornly, he carried on, the echoing of his footsteps becoming a mere background noise compared to the thudding of his dead heart, beating against his ribcage and threatening to jump out of his body. Still, he persevered up the winding staircase to the impending doom that awaited him.

Husk took a deep breath, face to face with the intimidating barrier, before he gritted his teeth and twisted the doorknob - crap, he should’ve knocked first, too late to back out now - a single feline ear twitching slightly in confusion as he heard panicked scrambling in the room behind the door, yet, he persisted, pushing it open further until he was given a front row view of inside the radio tower.

“…What the hell?”

Chapter Text

“…What the hell?”

Husk took in the startling sight before him: the radio demon, with a look on his face akin to one a child makes when they get caught with their hand in a cookie jar, doe-like ears standing up on end. His figure was slumped over, and was his shirt… ripped open?

Well, shit.

Despite all the thoughts rushing through Husk’s mind, he could not for the afterlife of him make sense of the situation he just so happened to land himself in.

He stood there, astounded, his slouching figure still at the doorway, and his bewildered eyes meeting the glaring ones of the demon crouched before him.

So, Husk took the initiative and did what any demon would do with an ounce of sense in their brain: he slowly backed away and swung the door shut, which did little to silence the growing radio static noise being emitted from the other side.

Just as Husk was about to call it a day and forget all about the strange encounter he walked into, setting at a hurried pace down the winding staircase, an unanticipated darkness suddenly wrapped itself around his ankle, causing him to abruptly halt his stride and cautiously look down.

Piercing, inky sockets melding with the shadows watched him with a sadistic satisfaction, bathing in the joy that came from the expression of the unfortunate soul tied to it. Its unmistakable crooked grin narrowed down its identity to non other than the shadow of Alastor, prompting a gulp from Husk’s ragged throat as he wearily let himself be dragged feet-first back up the steps, letting out a yelp of discomfort every time his chin banged painfully on the edge of each step.

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As soon as Husk closed the door and scrammed from the place, Alastor’s static pitched up in volume, wordlessly showing his irritation of being seen in an out-of-control, vulnerable state as he sat up and looked down at his handiwork, contemplating how he would deal with situation after he dealt this blasted wound. “How much did Husker see? What prompted the pathetic cat to come to my quarters in the first place?” The sinner pushed down these thoughts in favour of the task at hand, however his curiosity was piqued the second his shadow disappeared under the narrow gap underneath the doorframe, stirring the uneasiness welling up in the pit of his stomach.

Alastor dismissed the feeling, picking up the thread and attempting to lodge it back through his taupe and withered torso, making a mental note to ask his shadow to lock the door when it returns from… whatever it’s busied itself with.

Come to think of it, Husker couldn’t have gotten too far in the time lapse between him scurrying away and his shadow lunging in the same direction, maybe it’s made itself useful and disposed of the overgrown house cat. Ah well, he sure was an entertaining fellow, Alastor sure will miss him, but that just gives him one less issue to deal with.

Hmm, his soul contract still seems to be intact with the old fellow, perhaps his shadow has settled on drawing out the torture longer than expected? Quite unnecessary, but Alastor won’t pass up the opportunity to hear delectably fresh screams, although technically he isn’t the one drawing them out.

As the stag mulled these thoughts over in his head, finding the silence to be oddly comforting, the placid atmosphere was cut short abruptly by the door barging open, and a figure being flung unceremoniously onto the floorboards.

“Ouch, fuck, easy there, I was just leaving.” Husk growled out miserably, rubbing his sore chin with the back of his paw.

Alastor, still recovering from the shock, blinked in response. After a couple of seconds, he quickly composed himself, snapping his fingers to tidy up his appearance and cover his wound, sitting up straight on the ground as he barked out a fake chuckle.

“What a pleasure to be seeing you, Husker! Pray tell, what causes your sudden and rather uncalled for visit?” Slipping back into his usual demeanor, the sharp glint in the red haired demon’s eyes betrays the façade of his wide smile, creating an air of tension in the friendly tone. The accusatory expression is aimed at both Husk and the shadow, which grins mischievously and reassumes its position back at its master’s side.

Husk rubs his eyes in exhaustion, ignorant to the gash that leaped across the radio demon’s frame, which did nothing to ease the cat’s confusion at the situation unravelled before his tired gaze.

“Sorry boss, the Princess wants a refill on rye whiskey, so she asked me to let y’know. Didn’t know you were busy, uh…” Husk trailed off, unsure if any attempt at explaining himself would salvage any time left for himself in this Hellscape. If he had to admit it, he’ll sure miss Angel. Niffty too, probably everyone at the hotel, excluding Alastor.

Alastor peered at Husk intently, before speaking in an ecstatic tone, “No problem, old pal! We can’t offer a bar that lacks in alcohol, can we now? A bar without rye is like a radio podcast with no good gossip, how unfortunate for that I do say. Anywho, I suppose I’ll excuse you this time, but don’t speak a word of what you saw to anyone if you value your soul .” The last few words were hard to make out due to the thick layer of radio static coating the words, despite this the message was clear to Husk.

“Well I suppose I shall perform this request right away! Come along now, Husker, I could use a drink as well…” meaningless chatter droned on from Alastor as he stood up and led the way down the spiral staircase, leaving Husk a few feet behind, releasing a bated breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.