Chapter Text
Hell — believe it or not — had seasons of a sort. And being Hell, a place of torment, those seasons were all unpleasant enough to make sinner demons duck and run for cover.
The only halfway tolerable season was spring — moderate temperatures, not too wet, not too cold. But Husk was convinced that it was designed that way only to put people off their guard. When summer hit, it was hot and humid... fall was chilly and rainy... and winter could bring gales of greyish snow and freezing temperatures that felt deep enough to crack your bones.
Yeah, Hell actually froze over. And it seemed to catch everyone by surprise year after year. Report of car crashes on the highways and broken bones on the sidewalks and demons freezing solid in back alleys poured in to the news media, and Husk was convinced that Al was as jolly as Good Saint Nick when he reported all the mayhem on his radio broadcasts.
So of course, the steam heater at the Hazbin Hotel gave up the ghost just as a bitter winter night was closing in. Of course it did. And Al, who seemed to genuinely enjoy repairing the architecture of the Hotel to suit his own 1920s image of glamour, claimed to be a total airhead when it came to fixing things mechanical.
Naturally, when Vaggie called round to various repair businesses, all of them told her that they were backed right up to the next Cleansing, so with all due respect to the Princess of Hell and the Radio Demon, the Hotel would have to wait its turn.
Time estimate on the repairs? Three days, if they were real lucky.
So Husk did what he always did when winter shut things down: grabbed food and snacks for his bedside table, fluffed up his feathers and his fur, and holed himself up in his bed under four ratty blankets, grudgingly thankful that at least the plumbing hadn’t frozen solid...
... yet.
But this was Hell. And with Niffty and Al on the premises, he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be alone for long.
Sadly, he was exactly right.
Niffty showed up at Husk’s hotel room first, carrying a pillow bigger than she was, plus a bright pink blanket and a wide-eyed pleading expression. Husk made grumpy noises, but permitted her to set up camp outside the covers, in the crook of his knees. Niffty settled in, chattering happily; Husk only half-listened to her monologue, and offered up a sincere prayer of thanks when she finally started yawning and letting the ends of her sentences drop.
Outside his window, the white glare of the snowstorm began to fade to black as night came on.
Wrapped in his own feathers, Husk began to feel more warm than frozen. He pulled a cat’s face-splitting yawn and let himself start to get sleepy.
Maybe Al holed up with Charlie and Vaggie — or Angel Dust, although he’d better be prepared to ward off four sets of fingers, kid is terminally handsy...
The room was almost dark, and Husk was floating on warm waves of drowsiness sinking into sleep, to the soundtrack of Niffty’s squeaky little snores —
— before a loud POP! of materialization and the weight of a skinny body dropping onto the mattress in front of Husk instantly brought him back to full, if confused, consciousness.
“’M awake!” he declared, just before the penny dropped when a leather-gloved hand patted Husk’s left cheek teasingly.
Niffty sat straight up. “Hi, Al!” she chirped brightly.
Right. This was Husk’s own personal Hell, after all — and it wouldn’t be complete without Alastor to mess things up even more.
The Radio Demon was lying on his left side under the blankets about a foot from Husk’s chest ruff. In the darkness his red eyes shone with their own light, twinkling crescents of amusement and malice.
Husk promptly kicked Al savagely in the shin with claws out — fuck it, Al was built tough, the bastard could take it. “Five foot rule, jackass! Get offa me!”
While Niffty fell over backwards and rolled from side to side, giggling up a storm, Al stayed right where he was, and pouted in a way that was probably meant to be adorable but came off as a shark’s glare. “My dear friend, really — how else am I supposed to get warm?”
“Conjure up a heated waterbed an’ go drown yerself in it, idiot,” Husk retorted, not fooled for one solitary second. “I know y’got the chops.”
Niffty was still twittering laughter. For about half a second, Husk considered giving her a light smack with one paw — then promptly decided against it. Sometimes Al laughed when he (playfully) knocked Niffty around a little, and sometimes Al got busy trying to remove Husk’s important body parts. Today, with all their breaths frosting in the air, Husk wasn’t willing to get kicked out of the pool of warmth he’d managed to establish.
And with the exception of Niffty, he was not ready to share.