Chapter Text
The streets glow with flickering neon lights and smell of stale flesh and gunpowder. There’s a limo speeding down the street, knocking off several lampposts, and ending up logged into a BDSM shop window. Screams are cut short when a random pedestrian stabs the drunk driver and yanks his wallet out of his pocket. The crowd soon swarms the shop, taking out as much as they can carry.
Chaos rages through Pentagram City, which isn’t unusual, but right now it is more than welcome, and Reso slinks through the shadows, unnoticed by the screaming sinners. Good. He embraces the tumult, he is thankful for it as he stops at the corner of an alley, hidden from view, and waits.
The commotion lasts, and he keeps glancing at his watch every so often — the f*cker is making him wait, as usual. He watches the shifting blinks of neon pinks and greens reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement and his ears twitch when the sound of footsteps approaches him.
“You’re late,” Reso says.
Husk hadn’t really planned much of this when he made the offer, and as Angel empties his third glass of whiskey, Husk starts wondering what alcohol tolerance he is dealing with here.
The conversation is sparse, but not uncomfortable, in the beginning at least. It doesn’t seem like Angel minds quietly drinking, slouched against the bar while Husk takes his place on the other side. They don’t say much to each other, nor ask questions— it is the exhaustion of dealing with too many things neither wishes to explore at the moment; it is the anger and helplessness; it is the common ground of unexpected but pleasant company. Somehow, they reach an understanding right where the nerves burn out.
Neither complain. They keep drinking.
Angel seems tired, in a different way. Too tired to think of his posture and expression, the spider has his cheek pressed against a loosely closed fist, one of his elbows wide across the bar, a finger lazily circling the lip of his cup.
“You look good in there,” he says suddenly, and Husk’s brow raises in silent question.
Angel only smirks at him, some of that sass sparking up in his eyes again, and he blatantly checks Husk out. The Overlord rolls his eyes.
“Stop that,” he chides and wishes he managed to sound more dismissive.
Angel’s grin grows wide and toothy, “Stop what, Whiskers? I ain’t doing anything.”
Husk waves a glass he’s been polishing in the other’s direction in a weak threat, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And don’t call me that,” he adds.
Mocking a pout and a whine, Angel only leans into his teasing, “Aw, come on, where’s the harm? What— not used to getting compliments, I wager?”
“From you?” Husk questions.
“Alright, fair enough,” Angel waves a hand with a shrug, “But seriously — it’s like you’ve been a bartender for years.”
“In another Afterlife perhaps,” Husk hears himself mutter, and he refills Angel’s glass without being asked.
The spider surprises him with the next question, “Do you imagine we’d be still drinking together in that Afterlife?”
Husk tilts his head, smiles, “I imagine you’d find a way to be a pain in my ass— yes.”
“Me?” Angel gasps dramatically, “Impossible,” he fixes his hair and posture in an instant. Husk chuckles— it’s good to see Angel pick himself up a bit, even if it’s this way.
“I am a joy to be around. It is you who won’t give me—…”
“—…a f*cking break,bitch. You’re lucky I made time for you and this mess.”
The Hellhound smirks, “Good to see you too. It’s been a — what — several years since the Rift?”
“Not long enough to forget your ugly mug.”
Reso shakes his head fondly, “You are as charming as ever, old friend.”
“Yeah, yeah, save the flattery for that tentacle chick of yours. This ass is taken.”
Reso smiles at him, “Congratulations.”
The other doesn’t reply and reaches out a hand with an exasperated sigh. Reso offers a pack of cigarettes wordlessly. He watches the crowd swelling around the store down the street as his friend lights the stick.
“Alright,” he says, “What got your nuts in the twist this time that prompted a dramatic secret meeting in this hellhole?”
Reso responds in a low tone, “Crimson is starting sh*t with Husker.”
A bitter scoff, “Figures. It was about time he started plotting his revenge.”
Reso hums in agreement, “I have a hunch he’s in cahoots with Mammon this time around, as well. You know anything about that?”
The other groans, “Oh, f*ck me sideways… You’re all about to be royalty pegged raw by a dickless Greed Clown and that seedy little whor* with an obsession with dild*s, aren’t you?”
Reso sighs, lets the back of his head hit the brick wall behind him and says,
“I need your help.”
The imp cracks his knuckles, “Alright — one sh*tty father figure on a silver platter coming right up. Just a heads up, this type of sh*t costs extra.”
“No,” Reso says quickly, “Nothing like that.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“I can’t trust many people around here since we the attack, especially now with the deal Crimson made with the Media Overlords, as well. If we do something reckless it’s bound to backfire.”
“Who?”
“The Vs.”
“What do they want?”
“Nothing good,” Reso says, “It’s all speculations at this point, but they are all planning something…”
“That’s a whole lotta hunch you’ve got there, bud.”
“Yeah,” Reso replies, “That’s why I need you to — ask around. No murder time.”
The imp bristles at that, tail swishing in agitation.
“The f*ck do you think we are— detectives? Listen, Resario, I will have you know that—…”
“—…I am a delight,” Angel says, winking at Husk over the glass and taking a large sip.
“That so?”
Angel doesn’t grace him with a reaction to a gentle taunt, and suddenly leans in, and locks in on Husk’s eyes.
“You’d know that if you took a moment to chat me up a bit.”
Husk shoots him a warning glare, but Angel only smiles wider, “You know—“ he traces a finger across the shiny surface, “A little bit of— conversation… never hurt nobody, baby.”
He really has no off switch, huh — “How do you make everything sound sexual?”
It is such an honest question that escapes Husk that he almost laughs too when Angel throws his head back and lets out a peal of laughter.
“No, seriously,” Husk says, “How?”
More laughter.
“Oh Husky, you’re something else, I’ll give you that.”
Husk can feel the tips of his ears warm up, but he manages to look unbothered, “I—…”
“— know that.” Reso apologizes, “But you might be able to gather some information on one of the Crimson’s goons, at least. I have a feeling he’s following one of our people around, and I need to know why.”
“Hire someone else.”
“I don’t trust anyone else,” Reso answers slowly, “And you know what happens if a word of this gets out. You know what’s at stake, B… If other Overlords find out— f*ck, if Heaven finds out…”
The other watches him through the plume of smoke.
“sh*t, I am going to regret this,” he says and scratches his chin before giving in.
“Fine. f*ck it. What do you need?”
Reso visibly relaxes— thank Satan.
“Just a name,” he says, “I need to find the f*cker who shot my boss.”
“And what ya gonna do with him once you do find him? You know Crimson’s men don’t talk.”
Reso offers the other a flat stare and responds coldly, “Then I will just have to kill the—…”
“Motherf*cker…”
Husk’s brow raises, “Excuse me?”
Angel blinks from his sudden zone-out moment and sighs heavily.
“I just never—…” he shakes his head, fingers around his glass tightening, “I keep forgetting what load of mess I am in, that’s all.”
Oh…
Angel waves his hands around the place, voice cracking, “I mean look at me— can’t go to my place, can’t go to the hotel... Your men follow me around, but it turns out, some other creep is following me around, too, which is just f*cking fantastic. Valentino gambled my soul away for whatever f*cking reason. You are — well, you. Oh f*ck off, don’t look at me like that, Whiskers. You can’t blame me for not knowing what to think. Not to mention that you almost died and those sharks said—….”
He bites his lip and lowers his head. Groaning into his palms, the spider grabs his glass and empties it quickly.
“f*ck all of this,” he breathes out and slams the empty glass onto the bar, fist clenched around it.
“You know what,” Angel finally straightens his back and flashes Husk a big plastic smile, “I don’t want to—…”
“Think about it,” the imp says, “Are you sure you want to start a war with the likes of Mammon?”
Reso gives him a sideways glance, “What if the war had already started?”
They are quiet for several moments, before the other asks him, “You are really ready to die for this mess, aren’t you?”
The hellhound doesn’t even blink, “I grew up at the Rift... I’ve learned to die a long time ago.”
His friend grins around the filter, watching Reso with a glint in his eyes.
“That’s kinda hot, Messy Ressy…. Not to mention worrisome and worth some therapy, but your circus — your monkeys.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“I thought you left the life of violence to live amongst the rich stuck-up ass munchers and make an honest living.”
Reso rolls his eyes and pockets his fists, ready to depart before the commotion down the street quiets down.
“Desperate times, I suppose. But you should know all about doing what’s necessary to keep your loved ones safe, don’t you? How’s that prince of yours, by the way?”
The imp flips him off but says nothing. Reso knows he has made his point clear.
He smirks, “I’ll take it you’ll help us then?”
The other is already walking away, shrugging over his shoulder, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, I owe you one. Big time.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me, I never said it would work. And you’re still an asshole, Resario, you know that? If I die for this, I will kill you myself.”
That has Reso grinning widely as he watches him go.
“I missed you too, Blitzo.”
“Yeah, the ‘o’ is silent now, bitch,” comes the reply, “And the feeling is not mutual!”
Something in Husk freezes, his wings make a terse motion behind him, guilt building. He takes Angel’s glass and contemplates if he should refill it at all, or just call it a night, and let Angel rest. Think.
He needs to think, as well.
He needs to tell him, to finally come clean. To say that he is—…
“Angel…” Husk attempts softly, but the spider cuts him off with a wave of a hand as if he had just remembered all about his composure.
“Ah, look at me — ruined the mood,” his forced smile does something to the Overlord’s nerves, and Husk’s gut hardens.
“Enough about silly ol’ me, huh?”
Well.
That smile never seems to reach Angel’s eyes. Husk’s ears flatten against his head.
Angel’s brow lifts slightly, asking after several beats of silence, “What’s your deal?”
Husk blinks, “An unusual question, don’t you think?”
He goes back to his polishing— quite needlessly, too, but he needs to do something with his hands, something to focus on that are not those big eyes — and adds, “You know who I am. You know what I do…”
Angel’s voice loses its cadence, “Do I? I mean — I know what you represent. I know the stories about the Hell’s greatest Gambler…” — Husk can’t help but cringe slightly at that — “And I just don’t see it.”
Husk can’t ignore the pull on his gut upon hearing that any less than he can help the question that tumbles out of his mouth, “And what do you see?”
There’s another stretch of silence, and it is really strange — not fighting — but Angel seems to be really thinking over here. Is it the alcohol or just his endless curiosity, Husk has no clue.
“I don’t know yet.” comes the answer and something in Husk deflates.
Fair enough.
“We all have our skeletons, I suppose,” Husk sighs and places the polished glass to the side with his good hand.
“I guess we do…”
Husk is taken aback by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, and Angel’s hushed voice, and he wishes to make it better. Without any other ideas, he leans in across the bar and does what he does best.
“How about we play a game?”
Angel flinches back a bit, his big eyes wide and suspicious, “A game — with you?”
Husk shakes his head and smiles, “Not a gamble, little spider. Just a drinking game.”
Realizing what he had just said— an endearment that slipped his mind and out of his mouth so easily — Husk’s tail tenses, eyes widen a fraction. He should really not be drinking more. Neither of them should.
However…
Angel seems to have caught it as well, blinking at him in slight confusion, but not in disgust, and Husk blames it on the dim lighting and the alcohol in Angel’s bloodstream, but he can swear there is a faint trace of blush in those pale cheeks.
f*ck.
Regaining his composure in a split second, Angel’s confused little expression slowly turns sly and he grins back at the Overlord and purls, “And what are the rules of this game of yours, Husky?”
Oh f*ck him, Husk is dealing with an absolute minx. He might be just too old for this.
He might even regret this.
Shaking his head to regain common sense, Husk ignores the sweetened nickname — at least it’s not Whiskers this time around — and pours them both another round.
“Simple. We ask each other questions— the other has a choice: answer the question truthfully or have a drink. Either way, the matter is put to rest, and we learn what each other’s boundaries are.”
There’s a glint in Angel’s eyes that does something to Husk’s insides, and that elegant hand extends over the bar. He grips his fingers around the glass and pulls it in, eyes never leaving Husk’s.
“Alright, big boy,” Angel drawls, “You’re on.”
Husk swallows the dryness in his throat. Why is he nervous — he doesn’t get nervous, for the love of Seven. This is his idea.
“Me first,” Angel chimes sweetly, places a chin onto his palm, and grins like a devil, “Why didn’t you wanna f*ck me that night in your office?”
Husk’s wings twitch and his face stiffens. sh*t.
He is definitely going to regret this.
“Really— that’s your big question?”
Angel offers him a look, “That doesn’t sound like an answer to me. You’re bad at this game, Husky.”
Husk groans. “Fine,” — nobody said this would be a fair game.
“I didn’t—… I don’t…do that.”
Lame, but manageable.
Angel’s brow lifts, “You don’t f*ck?”
“That sounded like another question,” Husk smirks at Angel’s bluntness. There’s something oddly charming about it….
Angel’s eyes widen, “That was no answer! What kind of an answer is that?”
Husk can’t help but chuckle and click his tongue, “More questions. You’re bad at this game, Angie.”
“Oh, f*ck you!” Angel bristles and crosses his arms. He plays offended very well, but Husk notices the blush blooming brighter in his cheeks. He would rather leap into the Void’s maw than admit it, but he quite enjoys seeing the spider all flustered and pouty like this.
“My turn,” he says slowly, pretending not to notice how Angel flips him off.
“Do you enjoy your job?” Husk asks and a whole rainbow of colors flashes across Angel’s expression. He suddenly slumps forward, looking at Husk with that strange stare again, “Why—…”, before he catches himself and shrugs, his previously forgotten composure suddenly on full display.
“I am very good at my job, I’ll have you know.” Angel smiles and winks at him, tongue pressing onto the inside of his cheek. Husk’s claws extend under the bar’s edge— cheeky little spider. They are not going anywhere at this pace.
The Overlord controls the urge to roll his eyes — seems like he’s really managed to meet another stubborn ass, just like him.
Fine. Perhaps fun even.
“Fair enough,” he compromises, “Your turn.”
Angel seems to be back on his horse again, and asks, “Is it true that those sharks can’t kill you?”
Husk blinks— that’s a leap.
“It is not true,” he answers slowly. This is quickly starting to feel like they might lose their footing all too soon, again.
Angel frowns, “But —… What?”
Husk sighs and decides to break a rule in order to keep the peace they’ve found, to make it last a bit longer.
“There’s a lot at stake for them if I am gone,” he elaborates. “I am not invincible; I just know the game better than they do.”
Angel’s voice once more loses the high pitch.
“The game…” he echoes. “So what, this is just another gamble to you? You could have died back there? Really?”
Husk shrugs, “Everything is a gamble in Hell, kid. It’s just about knowing the stakes.”
“Your afterlife is just f*cking stakes to you? How can you just say that?”
It sounds slightly like an accusation, and Husk offers an apologetic smile.
“It’s complicated…”
“Then explain it to me,” Angel opens his arms, “I’ve got time.”
Husk weighs his options and grabs his glass— he is being selfish. He is being an idiot. This is his chance. As good as ever. He should really tell him, but…
Angel bristles when he notices Husk is bringing the glass to his lips.
He wants their peace to last a bit longer.
“Don’t you dare.”
Yes, this is a dumb choice, but Husk can’t help himself— call him a coward.
It’s alright… He takes a large sip and it stings. Good.
Husk licks his lips and smiles as he puts his glass down, and lets the alcohol burn away the guilt piling up in his gut.
“Rules are rules,” he says slowly.
He really enjoys Angel’s company…
The spider glares at him, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
—no matter how selfish he feels he steals a bit more of it.
“My turn.”
The studio is ablaze with neon lights and buzzing with chatter, all of it just making the headache bloom rapidly in Velvette’s head. Swiping mindlessly, she rolls her eyes as another one of her models ends up standing in Valentino’s way— great, that one was actually worth something. There’s a short, bloodcurdling scream, and Valentino tosses a lifeless limb across the room. Then the severed head.
“Esa maldita perra cree que puede huir!” Valentino bellows, teeth bare and dripping.
“Yo la hice, yo le di todo lo que tiene!”
A chair whistles through the air before it crashes against a wall and into splinters. Velvette looks up from her phone just in time to see Valentino smash his own with his fist.
“Puta mal agradecida!”
She rolls her eyes, “What happened now?” — tragic, drama queen.
Valentino’s curses and temper tantrum melt into the usual background noise she’s so far been used to — how he needs Angel on set; how no other actor can do what he does; how he is being drained worth in millions; how he’d pluck every one of Husk’s feathers…
“That f*cking ungrateful whor* left the club before his shift ended! And he has the audacity not to answer my calls!”
She rolls her eyes — of f*cking course, here we go again.
“I told you not to let Crimson’s f*ckboys so close to him,” Velvette says, “Those blokes are as dumb as rocks. He noticed, Val. They’re not exactly what you’d call inconspicuous.”
Valentino snaps, “I don’t care! I want him back where he f*cking belongs!”
Velvette’s brow lifts and she waves her phone in Val’s direction, “You knew what this plan was about when we set this whole thing up. And you know what Vox will do if it all goes to sh*t just because you can’t go a day without your toys.”
“He is supposed to be working!”
Velvette shrugs noncommittally, “He probably doesn’t give a sh*t about work right now. I wouldn’t.”
Valentino’s arms are crossed and lights a cigarette in haste, foot taping against the polished tiles, “So where the f*ck is he, huh? Why didn’t he come here?”
Velvette contemplates telling him exactly where Angel is— it is no mystery, it is a no-brainer —for barely a second before she responds, “And what do you think?”
Valentino’s wings tense behind him, “He better not be… Not if he knows what’s good for him, he better not be at that f*cking casino!”
“He doesn’t know dick about what’s happening, Val. And no shade, babes, but you’d be the last person he’d come to for any kind of help.”
Val’s shaking from head to toe and Velvette wonders if he is even hearing what she is saying.
“He’s at that sh*tty casino, isn’t he?”
She doesn’t grace that with an answer and just looks at him over her phone. Valentino is silent for a moment, watching her over the rim of his glasses, and exhales a thick plume of red smoke.
“Cuando la tenga enfrente le sacare los ojos yo mismo,” he growls before walking away— to find Vox and bitch, most likely.
Good. Finally some peace and quiet, at least for a little while.
“Just stick to the plan, Val,” Velvette says and doesn’t look up from her phone again as she yells after him, making sure he hears her, “And you owe me three new models for the one you just butchered, you maniac!”
Time for the next step— she muses to herself as she flips through her contacts and dials a number.
“Purple strap-ons and a margarita…” a sad little sigh, “I like margaritas…”
Аiright, this is Husk’s fault.
“Is that so?”
It is definitely his fault for not paying more attention to how much Angel had had to drink before he started slurring his words…
“Hey! What about a big bowl of margaritas with purple strap-ons swimming around? Whatcha think about that, Husky?”
—and coming up with the strangest things to say, apparently. Husk sighs— it took him too long to convince the spider it is time to go to bed, he is not about to ruin his progress by starting another argument.
“I think you’ve had more than enough alcohol for the whole week.”
He’s greeted with a giggle and a hiccup, and Husk is being entirely ignored, “…swimming like little fish… fishy, fishies. Fish. Fishhhhhhh.”
Husk rolls his eyes, a healthy arm wrapped around Angel’s frame as the spider stumbles up the stairs.
Angel is suddenly laughing, draped around Husk’s shoulders, “Fish! Such a funny word… try it!”
He grabs the side of Husk’s face and turns his head around. The Overlord looks up and holds his breath. f*ck, they’re close.
Angel’s hand feels warm against his cheek, gentle fingers treading through the fine hair under his ears, and his eyes are glazed over, pupils fully eclipsed. There’s a drunken smile pulling at his lips, and Husk bites the inside of his cheek hard — the spider is just too much of everything.
A shiver pulls at his spine and it takes his full focus to force his wings not to shiver and bristle at the quills.
“Try it,” Angel whispers, and Husk has to blink away the haze in favor of deadpanning back.
“You are sh*tfaced, aren’t you?”
“Maaaybe,” a grin that has no right to be that adorable, “Come on— try it!”
Absolutely not. “No.”
“Oh, come on, kitty, just say it.”
“No.”
A firm little nod, “Yes.”
“Angel.”
“Husky!” Angel cajoles, all too happy with this utterly ridiculous interaction.
Husk bites his tongue not to smile— f*cking Christ, he is getting too soft, isn’t he?
Angel is grinning, too close to Husk’s face for comfort, “Come on, Husky… please.”
f*cking fine — “Fish.”
The way Angel beams at him has no right to be that adorable, “See! It’s funny!”
“Yeah,” Husk deadpans, “Hilarious.”
It only earns him another peal of drunken laughter, and they are halfway up the staircase — who in the Seven Rings said they needed a thousand stairs here — when Angel decides to throw himself back dramatically, forcing Husk’s arm to tighten around his waist. This might actually be how he dies.
“You are no fun, though…” Angel slurs. Husk can feel his feet losing the purchase.
“Always so grumpy and serious…”
The spider will kill them both with his overly cheery exuberance.
“Why so serious, kitty?” Angel muses.
“It’s like you have all of this,” he waves an elegant hand around, “—on your shoulders. Like a bourbon…” a pause, “No, that’s not…” a hiccup and a frustrated little huff, “Ah, balls.”
“A burden?” Husk offers gently.
Angel beams again, “Yes! All heavy and sh*t— like this.”
“Angel!” Husk calls out, only half-sternly, because he can’t help but find this drunken little exhibit charming to a degree.
Ignoring him once more, Angel seems to quite enjoy being handled like a rag doll, leans back further — how far can he bend, f*cking Christ — and Husk makes a decision before he thinks it through.
In one swift move, he maneuvers the chuckling spider with one arm and throws him over his shoulder.
“Whoa!”
Another hiccup and Angel is still giggling, “Oooooooh… Kitten’s got muscles.”
Long legs kick in the air playfully and Husk makes sure to put a bounce to his last step, forcing out a little yelp.
“Hey!”
“Be quiet,” Husk chides, “—or I’ll drop you.”
He doesn’t have to see it to know Angel is trying his best to pout behind him.
“You are really no fun at all,” he hears the quiet grumble and feels Angel’s hand gently resting on the base of his good wing.
“All that bourbon sucked the fun outta ya.”
“The word is ‘burden’, Angel.”
Ignoring him once more, Angel keeps grumbling, “I wish I could suck something outta ya.”
Oh, Satan wept.
“Quiet,” Husk warns, no real bite to his tone, but thankfully Angel is drunk enough not to notice— he hopes.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Or you’ll drop me, I know. Sourpuss…”
Husk shakes his head, thankful that Angel can’t see the small smile tugging at his lips.
“Why are you up so late?”
Lori looks up from her book and smiles, “Couldn’t sleep before you came back.”
Reso crosses the room in large steps and leans against the window, watches her as she puts the book away, and hugs her knees. She looks too tired to be waiting on him like this, but he knows how stubborn she is, and how worried she can get.
Lori hasn’t slept a proper night ever since the sharks invaded the casino— tending to Husk and running the place while he’s been recovering. Not that their Boss had wanted any of that, but Lori wouldn’t hear it.
He feels guilty for adding to the whole plate.
“I’m sorry, Lo.”
She shakes her head slowly, one of the tentacles slipping off her ear and curling at the side of her cheek.
“Don’t be silly.”
“How’s Husker?”
Lori offers him a cryptic look, “You will never guess.”
Reso feels his curiosity spike, “What— what happened?”
“He’s with Angel.”
Reso’s ears fly up immediately, “Oh, f*ck…”
He is too tired to be doing this so late— especially after the day he’s had. Knowing that there would probably be screaming and yelling, and broken glass all over again. He sighs— alright, he can go and deal with…
“Actually,” Lori offers with a sly grin, “They are drinking together. At the bar.”
The hellhound blinks — huh.
“I take it Angel found out about…”
“Yep.”
“And that he…”
“Yep.”
“And Husk probably…”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And now they’re…”
“Mhm.”
“Really?”
“Mmmmmhm.”
There’s a pause filled with perplexed silence.
“Those two are very confusing,” Reso says finally, exhaling at length in relief, and just a touch of worry.
“Tell me about it,” Lori responds with a sigh and asks, “So what did your friend say?”
Reso lights a cigarette — the weight of the several past days starts to take a toll on him too. His whole body aches in exhaustion.
“He said he’d help us find the shark that’s following Angel around.”
“And you can trust this — Blitzo, was it?”
“The ‘o’ is silent. And yeah, I trust that asshole with my life.”
Lori hums in understanding, “Do you really think the one we are looking for is the same shark who shot Husk?”
Reso smiles at her and taps his nose.
“Angie reeks of him,” he says and his smile fades just like that, “It’s as if the f*cker is taunting us to find him.”
Lori is silent for several moments and Reso relaxes into it— the familiar stillness and peace he feels whenever she is around, the quiet storm cooking up behind those eyes he adores.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Lori slowly stands up instead of responding and quietly crosses the distance between them. She’d always fit so perfectly in his arms, and as she leans her forehead against Reso’s chest, he can’t help but notice a little jolt that courses through him when he wraps an arm around her— just like the first time, and every time after that.
“I am worried…” Lo whispers so quietly she knows only Reso can hear her.
“I trust Husk, I do. But he almost died back there. And Angie is in danger now because of this… And Crimson— he wants you back at the Rift. If they somehow get to the Door… If Mammon finds me again…”
With a gentle hand, Reso reaches for her chin and tilts her head up.
“Hey, look at me,” he whispers, “Look here.”
It takes a bit more coaxing than usual, but she finally trains her big, teary eyes at him — it breaks his heart.
“That will never happen,” he says.
Lori sighs at length, “You can’t just…”
“No, Alora,” the hellhound shakes his head firmly, “I will never let that happen.”
He wipes a tear off the emerald cheek and smiles when Lori nuzzles into his palm.
“Never is an awfully long time, big guy.”
Reso’s smile spreads wider and he pulls her in closer, “Good thing I’m a durable son of a gun, then, huh?”
That earns him a smile, one of those rare ones that make his heart leap into his throat. Lori smacks his arm gently before melting into his embrace completely.
“You’re such a cheesy dork sometimes, Resario, you know that?”
“Ah, come now, shrimp,” Reso teases softly, stubbing out the cigarette before bending at the knees and picking Lori up— it’s high time this one gets some proper sleep, and the hellhound is on a new mission to make that a reality.
“You love it.”
“Does it hurt?” Angel whispers, his words sticking to Husk like heat, fingers feather-like against Husk’s injured arm.
They are in Angel’s room, and despite the vast space, Husk feels like he’s suffocating. He had made a promise to himself he’d never approach this place again only to break it so suddenly and so easily, that he can’t help but feel like a criminal. In his own place.
Angel just does things to him he never thought he’d feel again.
Angel had stumbled off his shoulder and onto the bed with barely any grace at all, but his grip on Husk’s neck remained firm, and it left Overlord awkwardly half-standing next to the bed while trying to gently shake the clingy spider off himself.
There were no advances, however, not that Husk was disappointed at that — he is actually glad, relieved even.
After several grabby attempts to keep Husk close and his promise he wouldn’t leave just yet, Angel seems to be pacified enough to slip under the covers with one of his arms still holding onto Husk’s forearm.
Husk swallows hard.
“No. It doesn’t hurt.”
Angel murmurs something below his breath, eyes half-mast and Husk can tell he is fighting off sleep. So stubborn.
“The flowers are beautiful, you know?”
Husk’s tail curls around his leg and he can barely find it in him to control the reaction — he had almost completely forgotten about his turmoil over flowers.
“Oh… Do you— um,” he clears his throat,” Do you like roses?”
Angel stretches his arms above his head and yawns through a smile, “Love them… never got roses… Roses before.”
Husk can feel his whole face heat up, and hear his voice crack a note.
“That—… well, I...”
“Mmmm… thank you. I never… thanked you for them...”
The Overlord shakes his head slowly, and whispers, “And you never have to.”
He makes a decision there and then to buy all the roses the Surface can provide if they would make Angel smile like that again.
“I will not… I probably won’t remember…. this tomorrow,” the spider mumbles between them, sleep heavier in his voice with each syllable.
Husk holds his breath, but manages, “Yeah, probably not.”
And maybe that’s for the better.
“So… tell me…”
There’s a stretch of silence, swelling like storms and planting chaos inside Husk— questions, wondering, confusion. He cannot phantom for the sanity of him what he is doing and why, but Angel’s presence makes it all seem far away and small, and he can’t help but lean into it, just a bit.
“Tell you what?” Husk asks, voice hushed.
Angel sighs at length, limbs slowly relaxing under the plush covers and Husk fights the urge to run his fingers through the soft-looking hair falling into the spider’s eyes.
“Why are you doing this?”
“You might want to be more precise than that, little spider…”
“Being nice to me,” Angel yawns, “Why… are you nice?
Husk lets out a long breath before saying, “You should sleep.”
“Tell me…”
So, so stubborn.
Husk rubs his forehead and offers, “Would you believe me if I told you that I care?”
“But why?” Angel asks defiantly, head barely lifting off the sheets to glare at him— fails, “Why do you care what happens to me?”
He nuzzles back into his pillow immediately, unable to keep his head up long enough to hear the answer, and opens his eyes long enough to look at Husk, and lock him in — suddenly, Angel looks completely sober, no matter how much he’s fighting off sleep. Husk suppresses a shiver.
“Because,” Husk trails off, lamely trying to keep his tone even, “It is my fault… All of this is my fault. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it were not for me.”
“Hm…” another inaudible mumble and Angel rubs his cheek against the fabric of his sheets. Husk watches him almost hypnotized.
“But what if I don’t deserve it?”
“I don’t believe that,” Husk whispers back.
“What if… I am the bad guy here?”
Husk’s brow lifts in mild surprise, but he keeps his voice low, “I don’t believe that either.”
He means it, too.
Angel lets out a tired, albeit frustrated huff, seemingly thinking about the words said, or how to retort, but it only pulls him under quicker— the weight of the days spent worrying, being angry and confused, and now finally drunk, finally visible on him. He looks as if he could sleep the year away, right there in Husk’s presence. As if there’s no place safer. As if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Angel whispers, “You shouldn’t be nice to me…”
The knot inside Husk’s gut hardens and burns— he is such an idiot for letting this drag on. When the silence settles more comfortably and Angel’s fingers slip off his arm and curl into the sheets for comfort, Husk quietly straightens his back and holds back a sigh.
“Then it’s a good thing that’s not your decision to make,” he replies.
He needs a cigarette.
The sound of Angel’s deep, soft breaths balms the prickling ache in his chest, and despite his better judgment, Husk remains there for two moments too long than it might be necessary.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers, allowing himself a weakness of gently pressing the back of a single finger against the spider’s temple. It feels soft. Warm. He pulls away.
Slowly making his way out of the room, Husk doesn’t expect to hear anything else, so when Angel speaks up again, he stiffens at the doorway.
“You are a good guy… aren’t you, Husky?”
The guilt inside of him feels as heavy as all seven Sins combined.
He doesn’t turn to look at Angel, lingers at the door for barely a moment, whispers, and hopes Angel doesn’t hear him. He also foolishly hopes that he does.
“I really am not.”
The quiet settles in slowly, and Husk takes a long, deep breath, and waits.
“I heard Angel came by.”
Husk nods, “He’s in his room.”
“I see,” comes the response and thankfully, no further questions follow. Husk can’t afford to lose focus — not now.
Reso slides in next to him and props his elbows against the railing. Husk watches the garden below, the sleeping plants, and empty streets.
After all these years, it’s still surprising to him how few souls actually reside on this side of the city. He knows why; the strong pull of a strange, chaotic energy; instincts that warn off getting too close, staying too long; the irrational fear that comes from being so close to the Door for too long, to Alastor’s power— or at least, what’s left of it. It’s still strange, living so close to the rest of Hell, yet so far in the same gesture.
He likes the quiet, however. No matter the cost.
“How did it go?” Husk asks.
There’s a dark shadow on Reso’s face when he turns toward the Overlord— he looks as tired as Husk feels.
“I got the name,” he responds.
Husk’s brow lifts, “Your friend sure works quickly.”
“He is the best out there.”
“Were you being followed, as well?”
“Seems like it,” Reso says, “I think we’re all being watched.”
Husk’s eyes train upward toward the glowing orbs of Heaven far above them, “Yes, I suppose we are.”
There’s a pause long enough for them both to light their cigarettes, and Husk stretches his wings, tests their agility and how much they’ve healed as he exhales a large plume of smoke over his head.
He is angry. No alcohol or nicotine, or Angel’s drunken stupor could soothe the burning ache beneath the mask. Scalding, dark fury, taking the shape of a snarling demon that trashes against the confines of his chest— finally awake and hungry.
It is when confusion grows into guilt; it is when guilt finally snaps open and demons come out to play. It’s been too long, he muses, since he’d been cornered, challenged this way.
“How do you want to do this?” Resario asks.
Husk’s eyes are fixated on the pristine golden light flickering through blood-red clouds— there’s a storm coming— and his mind is slowly being wrapped into a soft pink haze, silken and smooth. So fragile, the thin, silver threads that stick to him, made of spun glass and a silly little flicker of hope that maybe things would have been different in another Afterlife.
Perhaps this would have been as good a time as any— setting the record straight. He knew the time would come eventually when the secret would be too big, too important to hide. He’s been considering going to the Overlords, telling them everything. Perhaps even seeking an audience with Lucifer himself, asking for his people to be spared, and pardoned for the crimes he had committed.
Husk would be alright with being held accountable, with being stripped of his power — he had already put it all in the hands of Luck before, hadn’t he?
It wouldn’t be easy— letting everyone he cares for down, but at least, they’d be safe. They’d all get a chance for a new start. There would be no Crimsons, no Mammons, no sharks and their red eyes lurking from dark corners, and Angel would be free.
It would be all worth it— in another Afterlife, where Husk might actually have the capacity to trust others to do the right thing, and not exist with constant reminders of how easily souls can be corrupted and turned.
Maybe…
But reality stares at him from the depthless Void, crimson eyes, and bloodied teeth ready to devour and tear at the flesh, and Husk knows better.
‘It’s so easy losing everything, isn’t it, Husker?’
‘Crimson sends his regards.’
‘Do you have any idea what this feels like?’
‘All it takes is one bad hand…’
“Bring him to me,” he says lowly, and with nothing but a firm nod, Resario stubs the rest of his cigarette and turns on his heel.
It’s time…
Husk stands there for a little while longer— taking in the silence, the calm before the storm. Cold creeps under his shirt, his claws extending with each inhale, he doesn’t take his eyes off the fleeting shapes of Heaven far above. His fangs itch and his wings grow heavier.
He had tried peace, but peace didn’t seem to agree with him.
Just another game — his mind supplies, images of Crimson’s greedy eyes and Mammon’s cold smile vivid behind his eyelids. The beast inside of Husk grows impatient, ready to tear his bones and flesh asunder.
‘People keep saying that you’re some kind of a monster…’
Indeed — There’s a growl stuck in his throat, burning its way forward, bringing in crisp clarity, sobriety he’d desperately been craving.
What is it that they say about roads to Hell and good intentions?
Indeed, it is time— for Husk to remind every soul in Hell what kind of a monster he can actually be, and if he has to pave each tile with blood to make things right, then so f*cking be it.
The Overlord meets the shark’s predatory stare across the small, dimly lit room. Husk looms beside an empty chair, the space around them small and damp, its air heavy with the stench of decay and the lingering pall of cigarette smoke. The walls are barren and stained, floor concrete, with nothing but a single orange bulb to cast light above the simple rickety table, square-shaped and old, with two chairs and a large steel door.
“So, these are the private quarters of the Due,” The shark rasps out through bloodied teeth, watching closely as Husk weighs a single bullet between two claws before placing it into a slot of a revolver, but otherwise keeps a smile on — no matter how painful.
“I feel special, Overlord” The shark laughs, “What’s the occasion?”
Husk regards him with a shrug, “I never forget a face. And yours was the last I saw before I got filled with blessed lead,” he tilts his head and smiles sharply, “I don’t suppose you’d tell me how you got your hands on Carmine weapons if I asked you nicely— Louis?”
The shark laughs, blood staining his teeth and his brow jumps, “Ah, I see… Someone sold me out.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” Husk notices, and the other shrugs.
“Only an idiot would be surprised at this point.”
Husk tilts his head, “Why are you working for Crimson?”
Another chilling wave of laughter, “Wrong question, Gambler.”
“I don’t suppose you’d give me any answers either way?” Husk asks and the shark flashes him a bloody grin.
“I might be persuaded if you purr for me.”
Husk’s lip twitches in lieu of a smile and he leans forward, revolver lax in his grip, “What do you want from Angel Dust?”
The shark’s smile turns feral and his voice darkens— Husk’s claws extend slowly but he keeps his expression flat.
“Oh? Jealous, are we, Overlord? That is so unlike you, isn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to be the Heartless One?”
Husk ignores the obvious taunt, “I am known by many names. That still doesn’t tell me why you are after him.”
“What can I say, we are big fans of Angel’s work,” Louis shrugs, “You could say he’s to die for.”
Husk watches him, noticing a slight shiver in the bottom jaw that is swelling with each minute, purple and red— Reso’s work. He notices the bloodied teeth getting redder, too.
“What?” The shark taunts, mistaking Husk’s calculated silence for a stoked nerve, “You don’t like sharing the goods, do you, Gambler? How selfish of you. Are all kittens so stingy?”
Husk sighs heavily, “The internal bleeding will soon become a problem and you won’t be able to speak, and that bruise on your jaw tells me those bones are one bloody heave away from entirely shattering.”
Louis’s mouth twitches unpleasantly, eyes narrowing. Husk continues, “Now, I do not particularly enjoy listening to you run your mouth, but something useful better start falling out of it— and I don’t mean your insides.”
The Overlord places the gun on the table in front of him, “You are dying and I am losing patience.”
He lets the silence stretch between them and lets the shark feel the cold grasp of reality. After some time, the other scoffs, voice less composed.
“So what, huh? Better not waste your time and kill me then. I am not telling you sh*t. I like seeing you in the dark. It suits you.”
Husk smirks, “How much does your loyalty cost?”
This earns him a loud, bitter laughter. The shark sneers, “That’s it then? What’s it gonna be— you gonna offer a bigger bag than Crimson, yeah? That’s the big plan? Well, that’s just disappointing.”
He spits on the table between them, painting the corner of the table deep crimson, all but growls his words at Husk, “All that talk about unimaginable power — f*cking pathetic little cat.”
Husk nods along slowly, each word painting a better picture— the details he can work with. Finally, he lifts the revolver off the table, expression blank.
“How ‘bout a game then?”
Louis blinks at him, “What?”
The Overlord’s smirk widens into a predatory smile and he shrugs, “A classic, don’t you think? You win, and your goal is complete. I die, and Crimson gets what he wants, and you get to walk free,” he lifts a finger knowingly when shark’s eyes widen.
“But for each empty shot— you must answer one of my questions. And don’t try to lie — trust me, I will know. Or,” he spreads his arms and smiles broadly, “—you bleed out in here tonight, and tomorrow morning, my staff feeds your remains to my head chef.”
The shark offers him nothing in return, face blotchy and swollen, with yellow and purpling bruises around his eyes, and on his jaw. His silence feels like fear mixed with greed and anger. Husk smirks.
“Come now,” Husk purrs, “Don’t tell me you are suddenly threatened by a pathetic little cat, are you?”
Louis’s eyes flick down to the revolver between them, and Husk pays his full attention to the unbuttoning of his cuffs. He rolls his sleeves up slowly, deliberately taking his time.
“One empty shot, I answer your questions, but if you lose— I am free to go?”
“That’s it.”
“One bullet.”
“One and one only.”
There’s a soft, panicked laughter that fills the room, and Husk weighs it against his offer.
“You are a crazy bastard, you know that?” Louis finally blurts out after he’s done hyperventilating, his breath getting ragged.
There you are.
Husk tucks the fabric in nicely with care, voice smooth and deep, “What can I say —I don’t play if stakes aren’t high. You shot me three times, correct?”
Louis stares at him, “Correct…”
Husk smiles — It’s always so easy…
“Let’s see if I can match that, shall we?”
Louis lets out a loud exhale and curses under his breath, before he straightens up and smiles forcefully, “You don’t have the guts.”
He gestures toward the revolver with the tip of his chin, “Do you, Gambler? I’d like to see you f*cking try.”
Husk’s eyes glint, teeth catching the light when he smiles at the other, “But of course.”
“You see… The thing about power,” Husk says slowly as he picks up the gun and places it to his temple, “—is that you always have a choice to make: are you a monster everyone fears, or a benevolent ruler who tries to do the right thing?”
The shark’s eyes are wide when he meets his eyes. Husk’s smile doesn’t even flinch, eyes don’t flicker when he pulls the trigger.
Click.
“It is a slippery slope,” Husk murmurs softly as if he is only chatting, weighing the revolver in his hand and ignoring the strained expression on Louis’s face. Before the other shakily reaches for the weapon, Husk moves the revolver away and presses it onto his other temple.
“The one I haven’t really learned to navigate myself, to be frank. You see, power is addictive. It can lead a soul astray and before you know it, greed and pride take the reins, and you cannot find your way back to who you once were. All that’s left at that point is to be faced with your own arrogance and judgment. For most in Hell, that is the point of no return. For me, however— well, I guess luck was on my side.”
His smile is as sharp as the sound of the trigger being pulled once more—…
Click.
The shark’s breath hitches.
“Luck is a fickle bitch, though,” Husk counties, voice causal and soft, “Graceless thing with no true loyalty— very easily seduced by idiots driven by ambition. Fortune favors the brave — isn’t that the saying?”
The Overlord moves the revolver again, places it under his chin, and leans in. Louis is not breathing.
So, so easy.
“I would say that is a fair enough of an assumption. Bravery is nothing but grace under pressure, after all.”
Louis stares at him as if he is looking at Lucifer himself, claws dug into the chipped wood and Overlord offers a rumbling condescending hum to his wheezy panicked breathing.
“So, tell me, Louis —“ Husk drawls, co*cking the revolver the third time. He is still smiling, the barrel of the gun digging into the skin.
“— do you feel the pressure?” — and pulls the trigger.
To Be Continued
