Chapter Text
Angel's been holding his breath long enough that his lungs are starting to burn.
Dissociation pulls a nasty trick that Angel has fallen for since childhood: dissociating doesn’t make it feel better in the moment. It makes things feel better after - it enables Angel to fold up and put away the horrible, helpless feelings, and move on like he’s fine, after the bad things ends. And then it becomes a cycle. He only remembers the hurt vaguely, gets himself into another unbearable situation because he figures he can handle it, he can’t handle it, he dissociates, and then he doesn’t remember how bad it hurt.
Angel is pulled back above the water, and takes a gulping, gasping breath. He’s doing what he’d agreed to do - Val had said he’d wanted him to do a dark film because he ‘knew Angel could take it.’ And Angel had grinned and fucking agreed, proud that Val knew he was badass.
But now he’s dizzy. He’s in a metal tub, naked, with his back pressed against his co-star, a wolf demon twice his size. He knows it’s not real - they’re surrounded by cameras and low lights, and when his head’s up, he can see Val and the director, Travis. He’s even worked with this co-star a few times before - his name’s Squid, he’s straight and playfully teases Angel about looking like a girl, and he definitely won’t go far enough to actually hurt Angel.
But it doesn’t matter anymore - they’ve been at it for at least an hour, and it feels aggressively real. Angel bites back a wine as Squid shoves his head forward, back underwater. He shuts his eyes as his lungs scream against him - the world is spinning, he can’t see, and he’s terrified. He wills his brain to drag him through it. He can feel that he’s dissociating, but it isn’t making it better. He can feel blood rushing to his head and hear his heartbeat pounding in his throat.
He blows water slowly out of his nose and mouth. He can do this. He knows how to do this. When he runs out of air to let out, he shuts his mouth tight and lets the world violently spin. Squid’s holding two sets of arms behind his back in one hand, and is holding his neck, keeping him down, with his other hand.
Angel forces himself through the moment. He feels Squid’s chest rumbling against his back, either saying a line, or getting a direction from Val. Angel aggressively regrets getting high, because it’s making this harder. He’d done a bump to stay awake and energetic - he’s been in the studio for hours. Everybody has, everybody did a line. It’s how they keep going with Val’s schedule. But the high has turned terrifying. Angel feels disoriented and loose under his skin, and he can’t breathe.
He feels his chest jerk, and panics. He pops out his third set of arms and uses one to cover his face so he won’t suck in water, then desperately tugs at the fur on Squid’s leg with his other - and despite it all, he hopes it won’t show up on camera.
Squid pulls him up by his neck, and relief swirls through Angel’s body. The adrenaline’s the only reason he hasn’t puked, but he tries to look pretty anyway as he comes back up - pretty, but hurt enough to end the scene.
But as Angel’s head gets out of the water, Squid’s hand shifts onto his throat. It comes around front, all soaked fur and long claws, and closes down to choke Angel. It’s not a BDSM play choke either - the type that only hurts a bit and doesn’t actually restrict anyone's airway. It’s not acting, it’s not a cue Angel’s supposed to play along with. Angel’s being choked.
Squid pulls Angel back against his shoulder, his hand crushing against the front of Angel’s throat, his fingers pushing hard against Angel’s chin.
Squid stage whispers in Angel’s ear, “I’m gonna make you wish you told me where your boss hid the money~”
Angel blinks at him, eyes wide, and says nothing - he can’t say anything. He opens his mouth and tries to gasp, his chest aching and eyes watering. He tries to stay cute for three seconds before pure, uncut panic takes over. The world’s going black around the edges. He’s going to pass out, and then what!?
He pulls his third pair of arms out of the water and tugs uselessly at Squid’s hand, looking at Val and Travis, silently begging. He blinks slowly, suddenly feeling energy seeping out of his body. Val smiles, and Angel uses the last of his willpower to turn his head as much as he can and blink at Squid, pleading.
Squid shakes Angel slightly, and Angel drops his hands off of Squid’s arm. He closes his eyes. He’s going to pass out, and god knows what will happen after, but whatever. Fuckin' whatever.
Just as Angel feels his mind waffle away, Squid lets go.
Angel slumps forward and gasps, his eyes cracking open. Angel feels Squid grab his shoulders, pulling Angel back against his chest, keeping him from falling underwater.
Angel heaves breaths in and out, and coughs. He’s going to throw up. He closes his mouth and swallows hard, because the camera’s still rolling, and vomiting would ruin the scene. He closes his eyes and breathes in and out through his nose, rising and falling with Squid’s deep breaths.
He feels Squid grab his chin, and turn him 3/4ths of the way toward him - they’re looking at each other, but for the camera. Squid’s still acting, and Angel tries to convince himself he’s acting too, instead of just reacting to real exhaustion and fear.
“Look at me,” growls Squid, and Angel does.
Angel’s arms are limp at his sides - he’s not fighting anymore. It’s all he can do to keep breathing.
Squid’s still growling at him, “I’m gonna let you out of the water. What do you say?”
Angel barely skimmed the script, but he croaks out what he assumes is the right answer, “Thank you.”
Squid shakes Angel’s head roughly, and Angel shuts his eyes, determined to push through it.
“Thank you, what?” Insists Squid.
Angel forces himself to look back at Squid, “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Cut!” Screams Travis, and Angel takes a deep, relieved breath. It’s over.
But Travis says, “It’s Thank you, Sir. We’ve been filming this movie for days, you fucking know this, Angel.”
Angel blinks at Travis, who's sitting comfortable and smug in his director's chair. Angel doesn’t care that he fucked the line up. His shame is smothered by how desperately he wants to go home.
“Action,” Travis yells.
Squid shakes Angel's head again, so they can cut the video neatly, then growls, “Thank you, what?”
“Thank you, Sir,” Angel croaks. His throat’s wrecked, and he’s nauseous beyond belief.
They hold that pose for a second, and Travis yells, “Cut!” again, and they’re finally, really done.
Squid laughs and starts to stand up, sliding out from behind Angel. “You okay, gorgeous? They told me to really sell it, but you know I’d never actually hurt you, right?”
Angel forces a smile and hauls himself up on the side of the tub, pulling in two sets of his arms so it’s harder to tell he’s shaking. He pushes a strained laugh out of his mouth, “Oh, I know, baby. It's me, I’m just acting.” He needs to get a robe and get to his dressing room, stat.
Somebody hands him and Squid towels - probably more for the sake of the flimsy set than for their comfort, but Angel doesn’t care. He wraps himself up and looks back at Squid, “I’m gonna go dry off. See you later, Squidy~”
Angel goes to his dressing room as fast as he can without running or looking scared. He gets in, slams the door behind him, makes a beeline to the bathroom, and finally throws up.
He flushes the toilet, then lays his head on it, the cold from the porcelain seeping into his soaked hair and fur.
He breathes, and breathes, and breathes. And finally, the dissociation does its job - it smooths away his panic and terror, numbs his body, and washes the sharpest edges out of his memory.
He’s tough. He’s badass. He can handle this type of shit.
He picks himself up and rinses his mouth out. His legs are shaking, his arms are numb, and he can see in the mirror that there’s a thick ring of bruises developing around his neck - but it’s not so bad, now. He doesn’t even feel attached to the person in the mirror - in a weird way, it seems like the man in the mirror could reach out and grab him.
That thought feels bad, so Angel walks away. He turns his shower on hot, rinses off, then scrubs himself as dry as he can with a fluffy pink towel.
He struts out of the bathroom, naked and feeling like he’s floating out of his skin. He grabs his robe and flops onto his couch, then pulls out his phone.
He looks at his hand - it doesn’t feel so attached to him, but it’s shaking. He sinks into the realization that he can’t remember coming into work, and he’s not sure how long he’s been here, or if he’s expected to go back out. He got wet. His body feels bad. He can’t remember much else.
He sighs - he should go out and check if he’s done for the day. He knows his brain got overwhelmed enough to fracture, a little, but he’s not upset about it. The world’s taken on an unreal quality, so he’s not scared of anything anymore. Angel knows it’s going to make him act weird, but he doesn’t worry about that, either - he can pretend he had a drink or did a bump, and nobody will question him.
He sits up, but can’t physically make his body stand. He flops his head back, and sucks in a few deep breaths, disoriented. Fuck.
Angel picks his phone up and realizes he can’t read right. His eyes scan messages, following the shape of the letters, but no meaning comes up to go with them. He closes his eyes and sets his phone down, fingers clumsy. A nasty feeling settles in his stomach - he doesn’t think he could get dressed if he wanted too, right now. He has no idea what’s wrong, or how it went wrong, but he knows how to ride it out. It’s happened before.
He feels an imaginary presence settle down next to him on the couch. It pulls Angel into its lap and gently strokes his hair.
The presence isn’t real. It’s something that only exists inside Angel’s head, and only comes out when he feels like this. It comforts him and helps him do things, but it doesn't exist. It doesn’t even have a name.
Angel would feel pathetic about it, but he’s not doing it on purpose - and it feels good to be comforted.
He closes his eyes and listened to his phone ding, ding, ding.
It’s gonna to be okay, doll, says The Presence. I got ya.
The door clicks open, and Valentino swoops in.
Sit up, says The Presence, pushing Angel up, checking that his robe is closed, tipping his head toward Valentino. It’s under Angel’s skin - internally holding Angel, externally smiling at Val.
Val leans in the doorway, whining, “Quit popping pills and come back out, baby. We’re going to watch the scene back - we need you in case we have to reshoot~”
The presence pushes Angel to his feet and smiles at Val, shy, “Sorry Val. Lemme throw somethin' on and I’ll be out in a minute.”
Angel’s body stumbles, and Val grabs him, “You hurt, baby~?”
I got it, don’t you worry, The Presence mutters to Angel - but Angel does worry.
Val pulls Angel close, and the presence under Angel’s skin subtly uses a set of arms to keep his robe closed, while using the other set to half-embrace Val.
Val’s sweet as synthetic syrup, “You get too hurt and high to even walk?”
The presence nods and flops into Val’s chest. Angel’s panicking, and The Presence is telling him to breathe - then it’s forcing him to breathe, and Angel’s barely in his body at all, anymore. He exists, and he’s sort-of watching, but sort-of trapped. He doesn’t follow what Val says, or what The Presence says back.
Angel wants to go home. He wants to drift all the way out of his body and be completely unaware, but that’s not how this works. His brain’s doing a coping mechanism, not magic.
Angel hears Val laugh, and feels him scoop him up. He carries Angel out - Angel panics, but The Presence holds onto Val’s fluff and flirts, acting like Angel’s hands aren’t clumsy and disoriented.
Relax. Be held. I gotchu.
Val sits back in his chair next to Travis and settles Angel’s body in his lap. Angel catches a glimpse of his sharp smile, and is encircled in a cloud of thick, red smoke. Val’s joking about Angel being high, and useless - and then The Presence is holding Angel tighter, petting his hair, reminding him he’s okay; all while controlling Angel’s body like a puppet and acting cute for Val.
Things pass in a blur after that, thanks to the downer Val’s smoking. He blows it into Angel’s face and watches Angel’s body squirm - loose, warm, aroused. Dissociation might not be able to turn Angel’s brain off like magic, but drugs can.
They don’t need to re-shoot anything. Angel gets the vague sense that Val’s holding his face and demanding he say thank you sir, like in the scene, and Angel responds. His brain clips to him pulling on pants with fumbling hands, then clips again to kissing Val goodbye.
He comes back into himself abruptly, while walking to the hotel. It’s like waking up from a bad sleep - except while he’s walking. It’s a shock, but he’s well past used to it. His brain's been like this since he was a living, human kid, and he died young enough to never grow out of it. So ‘waking up’ while walking is jarring, but he shakes it right off.
By the time he opens the hotel doors, it’s only him in his head, and he feels sturdy again. He’s hot. He’s badass. He’s absolutely fine.