Chapter Text
Lumbering footsteps, accompanied by a grumbling voice, and high-pitched giggles: These were the sounds that roused Angel from his peaceful sleep. He pulled the covers over his head, not opening his eyes. The sounds grew louder as the perpetrators made their way down the long hall.
The hotel room door opened. Angel winced at the fresh wave of noise. Husk was blathering on, likely to the baby, judging by his tone.
A cold, moist hand landed on Angel's face. He flinched back. The baby had reached under the covers. Angel finally emerged.
"Why's it wet?"
"Uh he," Husk said pointedly, "Was playing in the sprinkler."
"'It' was referring to the hand, not the whole baby," Angel said, stretching and rubbing his eyes. It was a lie - he'd been referring to the child with the word 'it', but he hadn’t meant to.
The baby was trying to climb onto the bed, but he was still a bit too small. He wouldn't be for long, though. In his three short months of life, he'd gone from barely the size of a banana, to more than triple that.
"Portent," Husk said, holding up a towel.
The baby heard his name, and one of his large ears twitched, but he kept trying to climb.
"Portentous."
Noticing his father's tone, Portent pranced over to the cat. Husk dried him off, picked him up, and took a moment to nuzzle and kiss the boy's face, before bringing him over to the bed and placing him next to Angel.
"Ready for lunchtime?"
Both Portent and Angel nodded.
Husk opened a small plastic bin of medical supplies. Angel held out his arm, already used to the routine. He watched Husk tourniquet his arm, rub it clean with an alcohol wipe, and lay down a towel.
Portent peered up at Angel with his large eyes. As soon as the spider nodded, Portent lunged forward and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh. He drank Angel's blood eagerly, making little baby noises as he nipped and sucked. Angel played on his phone to distract himself.
When Portent was done, Husk wiped Angel’s arm clean once more, along with his son’s dribbling chin and red-stained paws. He got Angel a pack of fruit snacks and a juice box from the little bin, and stowed it away on the bureau.
"Well, boys," Husk said, "We did good."
"What are you talking about?" Angel said, finally looking up. He’d been absorbed in his game, hoping to beat his high score, but he’d lost while trying to swipe away a spam phone call.
"That was his last blood feeding. From now on, it's all solid food, all the time."
"So he's been drinking nothing but blood his whole life, and now he's just supposed to start eating peas or whatever like it's nothing?"
Husk blinked in disbelief. "He eats mostly solids now. I've been weaning him for more than a month. You didn't notice he's only been drinking one meal a day the past week?"
Angel groaned. "I dunno, man, it's early."
"It's two o'clock in the afternoon." Husk grabbed his baby-wrap and wound it around his body. He picked Portent up and placed him in the wrap, so he was snug against his furry chest. "We're going to the store. Need anything?"
Angel, who was burrowing back into the covers, pointed to a scrap of paper on the bedside table. He had made a list of items he wanted, though Husk practically had the order memorized by now: popsicles, hot chips, and most importantly, a small container of sour melatonin gummies. These were the few junk treats he indulged in, since he needed to eat mostly healthy for Portent’s blood feedings.
"Wait," he said. He didn't have to eat healthy for Portent anymore. "Get Prosecco. Extra dry."
Husk put the scrap in his wallet and headed out the door, shutting the light on his way out.
Angel pulled the ratty blanket back up over his head and got into a comfortable position. He couldn’t sleep anymore, so he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV for background noise. He let his mind settle into a state between consciousness and unconsciousness, and planned on remaining like this til dinner. Every few minutes, his stomach grumbled loudly (he’d slept through dinner last night, and breakfast and lunch today), but he didn’t care.
This was how Angel spent his days. When he’d first gotten home from the hospital, his stitches left him bedridden, but they were removed after a couple of short weeks. After that, he blamed the blood feedings for his constant exhaustion, and honestly it was true, to a degree. Having a little demon using his blood supply as its only source of nourishment every day was grueling. Imps were built for blood feedings, but sinners weren’t. There’d been times when his veins were so empty, he remained comatose for days on end. He was only kept alive by Hell’s magic.
Angel hated himself for even thinking it, but he knew that if all six of his children had survived, he couldn’t possibly deal with feeding them all. There literally wasn’t enough of him to go around. It wasn’t a good thing that the kids failed to live, but…Angel never let himself finish that thought. "Relief" was not an emotion he could consider in this instance.
As Portent’s feedings slowed, Angel did feel his strength coming back, now that he thought about it. Lately he’d been going through phases where he slept for days - not keeping track of trivial things such as meals, or days of the week - until finally he felt like he’d explode if he laid down any longer. This was when he’d force himself up, and usually bathe, clean the entire room, do some laundry, binge eat (a meal big enough to last him the day...or two, or three), mingle with one or two of the other residents making shitty elevator conversation, before finally crashing once again.
Suddenly, Angel felt his fur stand up. Static electricity. He knew what that meant. There was a knock at the door - several, actually, in a little tune - before it opened. Angel groaned; he’d finally begun to drift off, he did not want to deal with this.
Alastor entered. Angel smelled some kind of spicy aroma, and his stomach turned. His hunger had turned to nausea.
“Hello,” Alastor said, seeing Angel move around. “I brought you a late lunch; Husker said you were up.”
Angel just grunted. He shook himself free of the comforter and looked up at Alastor.
“What’d ya bring?”
“Kebabs,” said Alastor, placing the tray of food on Angel’s lap. He removed the lid of the platter, and Angel resisted gagging at the strong smell. “I noticed you’ve been picking your food apart lately, so I thought I’d make it easier for you. I hope that’s okay.”
Angel looked down at the meal. Wooden skewers held unseasoned, grilled shrimp, peppers, and onion. There was a ramekin of sauce, as well as a scoop of white rice, on the side. Alastor had included cayenne pepper flakes, salt, and pepper on the tray. It was a thoroughly deconstructed meal.
“Thanks,” Angel said. This actually looked like something he could stomach. “Are you gonna hang out?”
Alastor’s ears perked up. “Do you want me to?”
“Well, you can, but I was about to put on a load of laundry…” he hinted, knowing what Alastor would say next.
“Let me do it! I’ll be right back. Maybe I’ll give you a little bath, too,” Alastor offered, combing his hands through Angel’s hair.
Angel was like a dead body, barely reacting to the touch. “Yeah, whatever.”
Alastor gave him a few good pets before rising and grabbing the hamper of dirty laundry. Alone again, Angel turned up the TV and began eating.
He slid the ingredients free of the skewers, piling them all up. Shrimp, peppers, and onions each had their own pile. He held the sauce up and sniffed it. Not too bad, now that he was used to the scent. It was syrupy, more like a marinade, not anything creamy, so it was safe.
Angel ate with his fingers, dipping the food in sauce and nibbling away slowly. He didn’t bother seasoning them; seasoning was bad, in his mind at least. He still wasn’t finished when Alastor returned with the clean laundry.
The Radio Demon shooed Angel off the bed and onto Husk’s armchair, so he could change the sheets and pillowcases. It was a good thing, too; Angel’s bed was littered with crumbs and the odd stain here and there. Alastor folded and put away all the laundry, and was about to reintroduce the invitation to bathe Angel - who really needed it - when one of his earlike tufts of hair twitched. He suddenly stood extremely straight.
"Husk is back, with…"
Angel nodded, knowing this was Alastor's cue to leave; he didn't like being around the baby. Alastor scuttled off, head low.
Angel put his half empty plate aside and crashed back into bed, spreading out on the clean sheets. He looked down at his stomach. It shrunk a little every day. He rubbed it as it grumbled - a few pieces of onion and bell pepper weren't cutting it after so long without food.
Angel sighed. Looks like he'd have to bite the bullets and go...downstairs. Where the people were.
He had just finished tugging on his robe and slippers when Husk walked in. The baby was nuzzling the cat's chest, fiddling with some old-timey looking toy, a wooden imp doll. Angel's eyes barely glazed over the two of them as he grabbed his room service tray and headed for the elevator.
The stairs held less risk of human interaction, but the elevator was less effort. As the doors opened with a ding!, Angel's eyes darted back and forth for Vaggie or Charlie. No one was around. He scurried through the lobby into the kitchen, which was also empty, but wouldn't be for long, since it was nearly time to start dinner. He snuck into the kitchen. As promised, Husk had gotten all his favorite treats, except the booze he’d requested (but Angel couldn’t fault him for that). Maybe he could pilfer some liquor from the ba -
“Holy shit!” Angel’s popsicle went flying (there was a dirty joke in there somewhere, he thought) as he jumped in surprise.
Vaggie had been lingering silently in the doorway, startling him.
Angel put a hand over his heart and tried to act natural.
“Hey, what’s the big -”
Vaggie uncrossed her arms and held a rolled-up newspaper up to Angel’s face.
“What, are you gonna whack me? I gotta warn you, I’ll just enjoy it.”
“No, I’m not going to ‘whack’ you!” She folded the newspaper into a sharper crease, and pointed at a small blurb. “Do you see this?”
Angel glanced down. “I know you’re not tryna make me read…”
At Vaggie’s wry look, Angel sighed and gave in, taking the newspaper from her hands. He looked at the blurb. His heart fluttered. His name was in the paper! Of course, his name, not to mention his picture, was kind of everywhere now that his movie was premiering (still at exorbitantly expensive ticket prices, and an extremely select audience handpicked by Valentino), but this wasn’t an ad. This was a little paragraph in the “Celebrity Gossip” section!
Celebrity!
Angel’s eyes sparkled, and a grin grew on his face as he began reading.
How ANGEL DUST Spends Its Millions
Formerly famous porno slut Angel Dust covertly recollaborated with “genius” “director,” the well-known “gentleman” Valentino. Last we all heard, there was no love lost between the two - though luckily Mr. V had another Mr. V to lick his wounds for him. (In fact, that’s not all Vox is licking, according to sources - Don’t worry, folks, he won’t tear into us for that allegation, in fact he’ll never see it. We doubt he’s touched physical paper within the last several decades.)
Angel Dust’s film, starring itself (we know it used to be “him” but since the thing popped out a few kids, we’re really not sure) heavily pregnant and getting fucked in a few different positions. You know, the usual. The film is being kept under a shroud of extreme secrecy. In fact, it’s so exclusive, we couldn’t even get Val to spill the beans to our undercover agent. You know shit’s exclusive when Valentino can turn down a set of honkers like hers. Tickets haven’t dipped below $10k, and a viewing of the uncut version is said to cost double that.
According to sources, the star negotiated for equity in the film, as well as any sale of merchandise or ad revenue associated with it. Good thing too if it’s supporting six kids - hey, we never thought old Angel would be smart enough to cut a deal like that, especially after turning up barefoot and pregnant, so power to it.
Fans have speculated on how Angel Dust is planning on using the cash. Some say it’s considering buying its way among the Overlord crowd, now that it can’t get in on Val’s arm. Others say it’s gonna make a porn studio of its own to rival Val. The most popular theory seems to be that it’s planning on building a rehab center for used up old bags - sorry, we mean whores - like itself. It seems that that latter theory is the closest one to the truth. According to sources, Angel Dust has allegedly been making substantial cash donations to its current hideaway (and what a hideaway it is, since no one fucking goes there), the Princess’s Hotel Has Been.
Angel Dust, if you ever read this, you are invited to 1. Give us an equal or greater donation 2. Tell us what the fuck you’re packing 3. Use protection next time.
Angel’s smile didn’t fade as he read. This little article was far from the most scathing he’d received.
“Is this true?” Vaggie said.
“Yeah - why, you want me to get you into a screening? I’ll call Val -”
“Ew, no!” She opened her mouth to continue, but ended up just shuddering for a moment - picturing Angel’s “film” was something she tried very hard to avoid. “I meant the part I underlined, about the donations.”
“Oh, yeah...Charlie didn’t mention that to you?”
Vaggie crossed her arms again and looked away at the ground. “Hey, your popsicle is melting.”
Angel found the treat under a kitchen chair and threw it away. He grabbed himself another one, cherry flavored, and on a whim, a lime for Vaggie. To his surprise, she actually accepted it and sat down.
“I’m honestly worried about her,” Vaggie said.
Angel looked around awkwardly. This wasn’t good. He was down here for snacks so he could forget his own emotions, not help someone else handle theirs.
“I’ve been asking her why she lets you rot away up there - no offense - when we could get you treatment for your depression, and help you start to recover, like Husk. But she told me not to worry about it, and she really stressed for me not to ‘bother’ you. And I was like, ‘If redemption is a bother, why is he living here? All the other residents face consequences if they don’t go to meetings’ and then she somehow turned the conversation somewhere else and I…” she sighed. “We’re not doing great, financially. The more residents we have, the more mouths we have to feed, y’know. I thought Alastor had started giving us more money, I never thought it was you.”
Angel scratched behind his head. “Eh...No offense, but my other popsicle’s melting now. Is there a point to all this?”
Vaggie ran a hand through her bangs, thinking for a moment.
“It’s just...You were our first resident. And you came here to be redeemed, and we’re failing you by letting you rot away.”
Angel felt a twinge of anger. That was the second time she’d said that, about how rotten he was.
“We’re the ones who’re supposed to guide you in the right direction.”
Like she knew anything about direction. Try going through what Angel went through. What direction do you travel from there?
“But instead we’re just letting you get worse and worse. And I think Charlie is scared to bring up your treatment plan because she’s scared of pissing you off, and losing...y’know.”
Angel chuckled humorlessly. “My money?”
Vaggie nodded.
“Well, she should be.”
Vaggie looked up in surprise. “What?”
Angel pointed his popsicle at her, standing menacingly over her petite frame.
“I spent almost a year gestating a half’a dozen horned demons, and then all of ‘em except one fuckin’ died on the way out of my body. Literally, as they exited my fuckin’ womb, boom, they’re dead. And you’re sitting around wondering why I don’t give a fuckin’ shit about my ‘treatment plan’?”
“I know it’s probably the last thing on your mind, but you can’t do this alo -”
“You don’t know the first thing about what I can and can’t do. Okay? Do you get that?” His voice was raising.
“You shouldn’t be expected to process all thi-”
Angel opened and closed his hands, mocking Vaggie’s blabbering. “Oh, weh weh weh, blah blah fuckin’ blah! Y’know, I think I’m doin’ pretty good!”
“Angel -”
“‘Cause what I wanna do is fuckin’ shoot myself through the skull, but I’m not! So all in all, I think I’m copin’ just goddamn FINE!”
Angel panted for a moment, staring down at Vaggie with an enraged expression. He could tell his face was bright red. He tried to speak again, but had to clear his throat first - the yelling after so many weeks of barely speaking had hurt his pipes.
“What’re you gonna do, kick me out?”
“Maybe! This isn’t an actual hotel, you can’t just stay here because you need somewhere to live. This is a place to get treatment!”
“Oh, will you shut your mouth?”
“The other residents are working hard for their spots here. We have a waitlist of applicants, do you realize that?”
“I guaran-fuckin’-tee you, I worked harder for that money than these stupid alcoholics and cheaters have been workin’ to avoid their cute little vices. You haven’t seen hard work in your fuckin’ life.”
Vaggie looked down. “I can appreciate that, Angel.”
“Yeah. Don’t ever act like I haven’t earned my spot here just ‘cause I don’t come downstairs to fake smile and make paper fuckin’ birds or whatever all’a youse get up to. I’m paying for my spot here the old-fashioned way, toots: with MONEY!”
Angel glared down at her, daring her to say more. He actually desperately hoped she would. Some sick part of him was being fed by this altercation. The beast was feeding on his anger, indignation, and pettiness like it was smoked meat. Also like smoked meat, those feelings had been cooking for a long, long time. They were poison, and he knew it, but holy shit, he felt adrenaline shooting through him - this poison tasted good.
“Nothin’ to say?” he mocked. Gimme somethin’, c’mon…
Without looking up, Vaggie said, “The birds are called ‘therapy cranes,’ and they’re actually very beneficial.”
“Y’know what’s even more beneficial?” Angel pointed to himself with all of his thumbs. “Benefactors, bitch. If you want this shitshow to keep runnin’, keep me satisfied. I’m happiest when I’m left the fuck alone.”
Vaggie didn’t respond, mostly for Charlie’s sake. The Princess would be heartbroken if she found out Angel stopped his donations due to her big mouth.
Angel stalked past her on his long legs, unwrapping his popsicle and tossing the sticky wrapper onto the floor behind him. His stomach was already sinking, even as he did it. He didn’t like yelling and being mean. In the moment, sure, it was amazing, even cathartic. But the high didn’t last very long.
Residents had begun wriggling out of the woodwork for dinner. Luckily, since he was tall, Angel could just focus straight ahead, blissfully ignorant as to whether they were staring at him or not. He went back to the elevator (going down the stairs was hard enough. Up certainly wasn’t an option) and hit the button. He looked up at the spectrum above the door. The little arrow showed it was on the fourth floor, coming down.
Three...Two...One…
The doors opened, and a large group streamed out. A cheerful voice called, “Great job everybody! You’re really improving! We’ll meet again at the same time next week, okay?”
Angel groaned internally. Charlie.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him. She ignored the fact that he walked past her into the elevator, without greeting.
“Hey, Angel!” She handed him the paper bird she’d been holding. “Therapy crane?”
“No thanks,” he sighed, but made no attempt to give it back.
“Are you coming to Narcotics Anonymous tonight?” she asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Well, do you want to?”
Angel just sucked on his popsicle, giving her a wry look. The elevator doors began to close. Charlie shoved her arm between them, stopping them. Great. Angel was quickly forgetting how bad it made him feel to be rude.
The doors reopened. Charlie’s expression had changed. Angel couldn't place it. Sheepishness? With a hint of sympathy, maybe?
“I just...I hope you feel comfortable to start coming to meetings again, whenever you’re ready.”
“Maybe when I’m done pruning weeds on the babies’ gravestones.”
Charlie actually jumped, eyes widening in horror. “Angel!”
“Charliiie,” he mocked. The doors began to slide shut once more, and to Angel’s horror, Charlie actually jumped into the cab beside him. “Oh, jeez Louise,” he groaned.
“Have you actually been doing that?”
“What, gardening?”
“Visiting the graves, Angel.”
“This is the last thing I wanna talk about.” He felt his phone vibrate and got a little excited at the prospect of attention. He scoffed when it turned out to be yet another unknown number, declining the call.
“I know. You always say that, about...Pretty much everything,” she chuckled nervously. “Did you forget we’re friends or something?”
Angel closed his eyes, focusing on the inertia as the elevator began to rise. He used to love elevators when he was high; being tall, skinny, and heavily inebriated usually made the things feel like a damn rollercoaster, especially the one at Vox’s place. There was a highspeed, glass elevator that would take you soaring through the different floors of his tall, modern mansion, all the way up to the roof.
“Okay, don’t talk, then. Just listen.”
Angel felt his blood begin to boil.
“I always respect when you don’t wanna talk about stuff, but soon, I’m not gonna be able to do that anymore. There’s gonna be a time where respecting your desires is actually hurting you. I know you’re mourning but -”
Angel opened his eyes. “Is this a script?” He glanced over in time to see Charlie shoving a scrap of paper in her pocket.
“...No.”
“Look,” he said. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open once more. “I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told tu novia - Just shut up, take my money, and leave me alone.”
He was exhausted by the time he returned to his room. Husk and Portent’s presence didn’t help.
The cat was in the bathroom with the door open, blowdrying himself. The baby was on Husk’s bed (well, more like his and Husk’s bed, since the baby shared it with his father each night), wrapped in a little yellow towel, rocking back and forth. They must’ve just had a shower. Husk was big into the hippie-dippy co-showering sleep-sharing baby-wearing bullshit. Angel didn’t mind: less work for him.
“Babbo!” yelled the baby, addressing Angel.
“Holy fuck!” Husk poked his head into the room. “That was fuckin’ perfect! Did you hear that?!”
Angel smiled, though really he was about to cry. He should be over the moon that his baby had just said his name, but nothing inside him had moved, and now he was panicking at his own lack of emotion.
“Ben fatto,” Angel said, sitting beside the child. Portent started to go for an embrace, so Angel shoved the remains of his popsicle into his paws to distract him. It worked. All four of the baby’s eyes widened in delight, and he pressed the sweet ice to his tongue, giggling.
“Bravissimo,” Husk agreed, switching off the hairdryer. He ventured into the bedroom, grabbing a bowtie and some slacks from his dresser drawer. “We need to start using more Italian around him. It’ll be easier for him to learn if he grows up bilingual from the - Is that a popsicle?!”
“Does he not eat those? I thought he eats normal food now.”
“He has his own low-sugar snacks…” Husk grumbled, coaxing the stick from Portent’s mouth and replacing it with one of his chewy toys. “Although I just like to give him frozen fruit, he loves it. Either way, we’re on our way down for dinner!”
“A couple bites won’t spoil his appetite,” Angel sighed. He laid back on the mattress, not caring that it wasn’t his, and watched Husk spread some scale-lotion onto the baby. “Bring me back some?”
“Charlie and Vaggie are startin’ to get sick’a me doing that,” Husk warned.
“Will everyone just get off my damn back?”
“I didn’t say a word about your back, sweetheart.” Husk tugged some clothes onto Portent. Before he could pick the child up, he had already climbed up Husk’s arm, onto his shoulder. “Cucciolo.”
Angel stared for a moment, before rolling over onto his stomach. He remembered when the love in Husk’s eyes was reserved for him. He’d felt so special.
Husk had a way of making him feel like that, despite not being special at all.
He listened as the boys left. Portent’s giggles could be heard all down the hall. Angel buried his face in Husk’s pillow, memorizing the scent. If he fell asleep like this, he would probably dream that he was cuddled up against Husk’s chest, like he always used to be…
Angel slipped under the covers, and scooted to the corner of the bed. He covered half his face with the blanket. Husk’s smell surrounded him, making his heart ache. He hoped when he woke up, Husk would be in bed beside him, purring, cradling their baby against his chest. Almost like a sort of family. That could be fun. Angel grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He needed a distraction from those thoughts.
It only took a few minutes for Angel to fall asleep, and he fell hard.
He woke up a few hours later. The room was mostly dark and silent. Angel’s eyes were drawn across the room, to an odd glow. Husk’s eyes.
Rather than joining Angel in his own bed, Husk had chosen to bring Portent to Angel’s bed for the night. The cat was reading a book by his own amber glow. Portent was next to him, with one of Husk’s paws on his chest, making sure it rose and fell steadily. This was how they always slept - well, the baby slept, and Husk usually stayed up most of the night. Portent was technically supposed to be in a crib of his own by now, and they’d tried it a few times, but Husk’s anxiety was far too high for it.
He’d conquered drugs, gambling, temper problems, and most daunting of all, drinking, but he held firmly onto his fear of history repeating itself. Wouldn’t it just be so perfect, too? All his kids dying except one, and then the lone survivor meeting the same fate as his only other child that had lived?
Husk glanced over, noticing the red pinpricks of light from Angel’s eyes.
“Go back to sleep now,” he muttered.
Angel obeyed. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes he hated Husk, other times he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin for wanting him. Either way, Husk dominated Angel’s strongest emotions.
He pushed these feelings down deep inside, and did as he was told. A juvenile part of him hoped that if he could impress Husk, they might get back together, but he wasn’t really willing to do anything beyond the bare necessities of survival: eating, washing, sleeping, repeating.
Besides the confrontations with Vaggie and Charlie, this was pretty much a normal day in Angel’s life. Not much activity besides lazing around, and of course, the strenuous task of avoiding the people, responsibilities, and emotions he should really be paying closer attention to.
He settled into bed. It’d probably take him a few days to recover from his arguments with the girls. That was a good excuse to have Husk bring him his meals and avoid showering. Just another day in the life, and judging by the verbal beatdown he’d given his…”friends”...it didn’t look like it’d be changing any time soon.
Of course, Angel had never in the least expected the last big change that occurred in his life (til he took a pregnancy test), so his judgment was far from accurate.
“Up and at ‘em!”
Angel hissed and tugged the covers over his head. A horrifying, happy voice was piercing through his skull, reverberating around inside his head.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Ooo,” said the voice in a pained tone. “That’s ten points off for problematic language!”
Angel sat up, tossing the blanket aside. Of course, he came face to face with Miss Charlie.
“What the Hell do you want, Princess?”
She shook her head - though her smile didn’t waver - and wrote something down on a clipboard. More points docked.
“Wow, Angel, this is not looking good.”
“What’s not?”
She held up the clipboard. “Surprise room check. And after that…” She flipped a few pages back and removed a sheet of paper. “We have your goals and schedule for today!”
“Fuck this,” Angel said, laying back down.
“Hey.” She clapped her hands. “Get up, please, you’re in another resident’s bed.”
“‘Another resident,’” he grumbled, but he had to admit she was technically right. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, despite how heavy they felt. He could feel his muscles begin coming to life at the activity. That is, until he looked at the clock. He stood up and faced Charlie, indignant. “Hey, it’s eight o’clock in the damn morning! What game are you playin’ today?!”
“Actually, you’ll notice it’s eight fifteen. All of the residents here are obligated to get up at seven thirty at the latest, and report downstairs for breakfast at eight. You did neither, so I’m investigating.”
Angel scoffed. “I ain’t one of the regular residents. You know that.”
“Actually, yeah, I’d heard that.” She finally looked up from her clipboard, making eye contact with Angel. A chill ran down his spine - there was a cold anger in her eyes. “Vaggie told me about your guys’ conversation yesterday.”
“Oh, great. So Vagina doesn’t like it that I don’t wanna be accosted while getting a fucking snack, so now I gotta suffer?”
“Actually, she’s really worried, Angel.” She was pissed, now, and any traces of her usual smile were gone. “It took some digging before she'd even admit all the mean shit you said to her.”
“Oh, yeah, boo hoo.”
“Well, she literally cried, so yeah. Boo hoo.”
Angel just stared. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to laugh, but the only thing going on in the forefront was a mix of confusion and abject shame.
“She cried?”
“Yeah. She’s really worried that we’re failing you, and I am, too. I tried to give you space, like I mentioned yesterday, but you’re clearly coping even worse than I thought, if you’re treating people like this.” She held up a hand before Angel could object. “I - We don’t blame you. And you’re not in trouble. But, the wallowing period is over.”
Angel gaped at her. He tried to muster up a ‘how dare you try and dictate how I grieve?’ or a ‘well, screw you, I’ll find somewhere else to stay!’ but he couldn’t. He barely had the energy to get out of bed in the morning, let alone fight with Charlie.
Legs trembling with nerves, Angel sat down on the bed. Charlie didn’t object.
“It actually looks really good in here! I’m gonna trust that Husk wouldn’t let you have drugs in here, so I’m not even gonna do a search. Just a quick sweep. Okay?”
Angel nodded.
“Thanks, Angel.”
He rolled his eyes. Great, now she was talking to him like he was a lion, and she was a zookeeper stuck in the fucking enclosure. Well, no, she didn’t actually seem to fear him at all...She was talking to him like he was a caged parrot at the pet store. And after all, he may as well be. Was he any better off?
He looked at the list in his hands.
Goals for Angel Dust
Choose three items to complete.
-Join the other residents for a meal
-Attend a group therapy session or meeting (suggested groups: Alcoholics Anonymous*, Narcotics Anonymous, Depression and Anxiety group*, Dealing With Anxiety special workshop (Tuesday)*, Sexual trauma therapy*, Medical Marijuana seminar (Friday)) and write a private reflection
-Participate in a group activity (helping to cook dinner*, tending to the garden*, Walking Club*, Arts and Crafts, washing dishes*)
-Do a load of laundry
-Guided meditation
-Spend 30 minutes interacting with Portent
Angel read and reread the list. He had absolutely no desire to do any of these, although some looked better than others. He could easily stretch out the laundry to last all day, especially if he purposely messed it up the first time, and get out of doing the other two items. The guided meditation one seemed solitary too, not so bad, although introspection was just...ew. He’d rather wash dishes with the morons than reflect on his internal feelings.
“Do you know which ones you’re gonna do?” Charlie asked. She’d already finished her run around the room. “I need you to pick beforehand, that way I can make sure you follow through and do them.”
Angel stared down at the paper again.
“Hey.”
Charlie placed her hand over Angel’s, lowering the list from his line of vision. He looked up at her, dead-eyed.
“I don’t know what you’re going through. But I know it’s hard. I did try to pick stuff you’d like, and look.” She pointed to the stars next to some of the items. “I marked the things that Husk goes to. It seems like you guys are...eh, un-hostile, at least, which is awesome! Sometimes it’s easier to hang out in a group when someone you already know is there. Or, y’know, you can avoid him if you want - I get that, too. This is about you, okay? Your healing, I mean. I know I’m giving you a little kick in the butt here, but I do really want you to do this on your own terms.”
Angel just sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for Charlie’s ramblings. “I get it.”
“Look, I’ll even let you have a cheat, okay?” She pointed to the first item on the list. “Breakfast doesn’t start til eight thirty. If you hurry, you can get washed and dressed, and we’ll go down together. We can pack up the leftovers together, and I’ll count it as a group activity - I mean, they’ll be doing the dishes a few feet away, so that kinda makes it group, right?”
Hatred grew inside Angel like mold. Not for Charlie, but for himself. She was really trying, giving him every resource she could, even offering personal help. And Angel absolutely loathed himself because he didn’t want it. He’d somehow managed to trick this woman into believing he was worth her time and energy, but he wasn’t, he wasn’t worth anything.
But, a guy’s gotta eat.
“Lemme brush my teeth,” said Angel. He noticed Charlie conceal a giant grin - she probably didn’t wanna spook him with too much positivity all at once.
Angel slipped on a top (Husk’s blue WWII Vets Bowling League commemorative T-shirt) and a pair of high-waisted jeans on his way to the bathroom. Charlie had the courtesy to cover her face with the clipboard once he slipped his robe off. He couldn’t help a smirk. The kid was cute, he had to admit.
In the elevator, on the way downstairs, Angel ran a hand through his hair, over and over. Each time, he discovered new knots and tangles. Probably because he couldn’t remember the last time he brushed it. Charlie was babbling, but Angel wasn’t listening, just focusing on the acid ocean sloshing around in his stomach. His heart was pounding in his throat. It had been months since he was in a room with more than one or two other people, and even then, it was almost always just Husk and Portent, or Alastor.
His anxiety spiked when the doors opened into the lobby: someone was yelling.
Angel was suddenly a kid again, watching his father scream and chase his brother, who sacrificed himself to shield his siblings and mother from the fiery wrath of a drunken, profoundly angry man. Angel found himself pressed flat against the back wall of the elevator, eyes screwed shut, shaking his head.
People yelled all the time - this was a hotel full of sinners, after all. And shit, before the whole pregnancy thing, he and Husk had...let’s call it a loud relationship, and it didn’t bother him. Why was his reaction to this random shouting so strong?!
Angel’s eyes widened as he realized.
Charlie was rubbing his arm, trying to get him to relax, but he wrenched the limb free and ran into the lobby.
The flashback…
Vaggie was standing in the doorway, being shouted at by a large, broad figure. The stained glass hotel doors let dazzling morning light shine through, backlighting the figure. Angel couldn’t make it out from his angle.
Residents gathered to get a look at the commotion, though they stayed a fair distance away. The only one who broke the invisible barrier was Angel, bursting from the crowd and approaching Vaggie.
His suspicion was right.
The screaming reminded him of his father, because sure enough, for some godforsaken reason, Henroin was standing in the Hazbin Hotel lobby, giving Vaggie a piece of his mind.
When his eyes landed on Angel, the screaming stopped. Vaggie turned to see what had quieted him.
“Angel, I don’t think you should -”
“What are you doing here?” Angel breathed. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to run, run far away, but he couldn’t, not until he got some sort of confirmation that this wasn’t a hallucination.
Henroin shook his head. Any anger in his face had melted away. He took a step toward Angel, holding out all of his hands.
“Cuore mio!” he said. “Let me take you home.”