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The night was young, but Husk felt his age in the aches that settled in his body. He leaned into the bar, elbows bearing the brunt of his weight as he polished the glass in his hands. It was spotless by now. He should have reached for another, but each time he pushed himself upright—at least, as upright as he could get under the circumstances—and leaned down, he dreaded it more the next time.
And yet, standing bent over the counter like this had long since ceased to offer relief. His back ached no matter his position, and the pain in his knees had long since spread up and down his legs. The stool he’d brought over from the other side of the bar sat abandoned, off to the side. It turned out sitting hurt as much as standing, and keeping his hands busy until the end of his shift seemed the only way to get through it—that, and the open bottle of whiskey below the bar.
He put the clean glass in its place and, before he picked up the next, brought the bottle to his lips. The booze burned on the way down, settling like a hellish pit of fire in his stomach. It tasted like shit, but he didn’t drink for the flavor.
The second time he ducked down, one hand gripping the edge of the counter to support himself, he rose with a smudged glass in hand to find Angel Dust in his usual seat at the bar. His face betrayed a long shoot, fatigue written in the lines beneath his eyes and the lightly smeared concealer, even as he brightened when Husk looked his way.
“Gonna need a strong one tonight, whiskers,” Angel said, resting his chin on folded hands.
“When don’t you?” Husk muttered, setting a fresh glass on the counter and pouring. He slid it over to Angel, his movements deliberate.
“Hey, I got a taste for the fruity stuff, too,” Angel said with a grin, taking up the glass and motioning with it so the amber liquid sloshed and dripped down the side.
“You are the fruity stuff,” Husk replied, replacing the bottle below the bar, his knees protesting.
Angel threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, and I just got back from tastin’ fruity stuff all day long. Never thought I could have too much of a good thing, but Val had me working fourteen hours, and let me tell you, not all of those flavors go together.”
Angel brought the drink to his lips and took two deep swallows before he put it down, fingertips dancing along the rim. Husk topped it off, if only to avoid having to reach for the bottle again moments later at Angel’s request, as Angel launched into a steady stream of chatter about the studio.
Most nights, Husk looked forward to this. He’d come to like listening to Angel, even when he complained about his boss and his work. He’d found himself waiting up for Angel when he returned from a late night shoot to share these moments, to watch Angel relax as he got deeper into his drink. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t glad to see him tonight—or rather, Husk’s desire to be alone wasn’t Angel’s fault. But as Angel went on, Husk’s replies turned to noises of acknowledgment and then to nothing at all as he focused more and more on simply trying not to cause himself further pain.
Again, he lifted the same bottle he’d used to pour Angel’s drink to his own lips. The booze wasn’t doing its job, but that didn’t stop him from trying. His mind wandered as Angel went on about his boss and his work, tuning in and out like the pain in his knees and back was a bad signal, interrupting his senses.
“It’s bullshit, right?”
Husk startled back into the conversation, realizing belatedly that he had missed several minutes of Angel’s monologuing. Angel stared at him expectantly over the rim of his glass, and Husk averted his eyes, lest they betray his inattention.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said lamely.
Angel arched a brow and set his glass down, assessing Husk in a way that made Husk’s skin crawl.
On a different night, a night with no pain—or, realistically, less pain, the kind he could think through and ignore when someone came around—their conversation might have turned to banter by now. He also would’ve had a fucking clue what Angel had said to him.
Angel lowered his eyes to the counter and dragged his finger through the condensation left by his drink, drawing patterns across the wood. “You ready for that, uh…what’d Charlie call it? Sharin’ circle tonight?”
For a moment, Husk let his shoulders and even his wings fall, relieved that Angel hadn’t questioned his uncharacteristic distance. But when Angel’s words sank in, he raised his head and turned so quickly that his back twinged, and he had to hastily lean into the counter as one of his knees threatened to drop him.
“The fuck do you mean ‘sharin’ circle’?” Husk snapped.
Angel slid his now-empty glass across the bar. “I mean, a stupid activity I need to get drunker for. Ready for round three, baby.”
Husk absently poured Angel’s next drink, which Angel drained faster than the last. He softened after, resting his cheek on the heel of his hand.
“I dunno,” Angel mused without meeting Husk’s eyes. “I still think it’s stupid, but it sounds like this one’s just shootin’ the shit.”
“I don’t wanna shoot the shit with anyone tonight,” Husk grumbled, and as soon as it was out, he realized how it sounded. He took another swig from the bottle, an automatic effort to cover the flush of regret rising to his face.
Angel’s brows hardened into a flat line, and the air between them changed when he spoke. “Well, sorry for disturbin’ ya.”
Husk rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Since when?”
Angel leaned over the bar, his empty glass seemingly forgotten. “Look, I dunno what’s up with you tonight, but it ain’t my fault. Maybe you should share it with everyone, huh?”
“Oh, fuck that,” Husk snapped. “I ain’t sharin’ shit in no fuckin’ circle.”
“Right, cuz the old bartender’s gotta listen to everyone else but he’s gotta keep us all in the dark,” Angel quipped, crossing one set of arms over his chest and folding the other on the bar. “Y’know, maybe this is why ya got such a stick up your ass all the time. And, just sayin’, if you wanted somethin’ up there, you coulda just asked.”
“What the fuck is it with you?” Husk misjudged the distance between his hand and the counter and set the bottle down a little too hard. “I thought we were past this shit.”
“You think I’m comin’ onto you right now?” Angel laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Please. You know what I think? I think you act like you don’t care about all this redemption stuff, but you wish you had half a chance at it. But you think you ain’t good enough, so you sit here and drink yourself into the second afterlife because you’re a fuckin’ coward—”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish you fuckin’ could!” Angel was already standing by this point, and as he turned away and stalked toward the parlor, he gave Husk the finger with both right hands.
Husk uttered a low growl at Angel’s back. He swiped Angel’s abandoned glass off the counter too hastily, and between the adrenaline and the sharp twinge that tore through his back with the motion, he fumbled and dropped it. It shattered at his feet, glass scattering across the floor and sending the sharp smell of whiskey into the air as the remnants of the drink spread among it. The growl grew deeper, and he threw a rag down on top of the mess before starting to lower himself carefully behind the bar, using his wings and the bar top for balance. But no matter how he angled himself, he couldn’t do it and was still trying to devise a way when a much less welcome voice reached his ears from across the bar.
“Oh, Husker, what on earth are you doing?”
Husk was, at the moment, half bent to the side, wings fanned out, one arm reaching toward the floor. He wobbled when Alastor addressed him, catching himself on the counter and digging his claws into the wood.
“What do you want?” Husk grumbled in the face of Alastor’s wide, toothy grin.
“Why, I simply noticed you seemed to be having a rather difficult time over here,” Alastor continued. His eyes narrowed, and the grin evolved into something akin to a sneer. “In fact, you appear to be in a great deal of pain.”
“Like you had nothin’ to do with it,” Husk muttered, turning away and bracing against the shelves behind the bar. He lowered himself slowly, his arms doing the bulk of the work until his knees touched the floor.
“Whatever could you mean?” Alastor asked in his singsong way.
His voice wheedled its way under Husk’s skin, but Husk didn’t answer. He inched over to the glass and set about gathering it up in the rag, carefully so as not to cut himself. The shards made a soft clinking as he scooped them, and he pretended not to notice Alastor’s face peeking over the top of the bar.
“Oh my, what a mess!” he exclaimed. “Allow me.”
In the next moment, Alastor gestured with his microphone and Husk jumped back as the shards collected themselves neatly in the rag and the booze lifted from the tile. The whole bundle disappeared into thin air. Unfortunately, Alastor did not go with it.
“There, that’s better,” Alastor pronounced. Husk, however, did not move to rise—after he’d finally managed to get onto the floor, the idea of pulling himself back up exhausted him before he even tried. Alastor held him there with his gaze, and the grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry, I made sure to clean it all up. Unless there’s another reason you’re still down there?”
Husk bared his teeth. Alastor just wanted to hear him say it—to admit that not only did Alastor own his soul but his reminder weeks ago had fucked Husk up even more than he already was. He hadn’t had cause to mention it after Alastor had yanked him to the floor by the chain around his neck. But even at the time, he knew from the way his knees hit the floor in that hallway and the way he’d tried to twist out of Alastor’s grip that it would come back to haunt him. Now, on the floor behind the bar, it reminded him of how he’d cowered before Alastor that day, his ears pinned down, trembling.
He forced himself up, knees aching with the effort, and came up inches from Alastor’s face. “No.”
“Lovely to hear, my good man,” Alastor said without moving back. “We wouldn’t want our only bartender out of commission, now, would we? You certainly provide a very important service to the hotel.” He reached up and scratched beneath Husk’s chin, sending a shiver down Husk’s spine.
Husk slapped his hand away. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me.”
Alastor laughed behind his smile and dissolved into black smoke that slunk across the hotel floor. As soon as he was gone, a shout from across the room snapped Husk back to attention.
“Hey, Husk!” Charlie waved him over from the parlor, bouncing where she stood and practically singing her next words. “Come on, we’re about to start our sharing circle!”
Around her, everyone sat on the floor around the room. Angel’s eyes were pointedly glued to his phone while everyone else stared at Husk. There was no way Husk could sit on the floor right now—even if he managed to get down, he wouldn’t manage to get back up or stay in the same position for long.
“I’ll sit this one out,” Husk said, reaching below the bar for a bottle and drinking deeply.
“What?” Charlie said, crestfallen. “But, Husk, this one is really important! We’re going to learn so much about each other, and share feelings, and—”
Husk brought the bottle down and said with more force than he meant, “I get enough of you fucks bitchin’ when the bar’s open.”
“Bar’s still open,” Angel quipped without looking up.
“Not anymore,” Husk said, shuffling out from behind it. “I’m closin’ up for the night.”
Angel scoffed. “Night, gramps.”
Husk pretended not to hear him, and as he made his way toward the stairs with slow, painstaking steps, he saw Angel lift his head in his periphery. He felt Angel’s eyes on him the whole way, even as Charlie started explaining the exercise.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused. He swore there were more than usual, and if he scaled them now, there was a good chance he’d end up back at the bottom against his will. Instead, he spread his wings, took an unsteady step back, crouched, and pushed off with his hands in an unsteady takeoff. He nearly ended up on the ground, anyway, but he managed to steady himself in the air, to the detriment of a few flight feathers that he left in his wake.
He stumbled on the landing and braced himself against the wall. He may have spared his knees, but the ghost of an ache pervaded his wings, too. He hadn’t noticed it earlier—or maybe it was the one thing the booze helped—but now it became a discomfort that pushed his mood over the edge as he moved stiffly down the hall.
Downstairs, Angel’s voice drifted up to him, a hasty reassurance to start without him, that he’d forgotten something and needed to go upstairs and get it. Husk trudged down the hall toward his room, hoping that he would reach it before Angel made it up the stairs.
Husk had his hand out, reaching for the door handle when running footsteps approached from behind him. He kept his eyes pointedly on the handle, hoping that maybe, if he didn’t look, didn’t acknowledge him, Angel would go into his own room without—
“Hey.”
Husk growled before he could stop himself.
“I’m not here to bug ya, I swear,” Angel said, his tone placating. It set Husk on edge, and he gritted his teeth. He was steps from being able to collapse in his bed, and if it were anyone else, he’d have done it already and shut the door in their face. But when it was Angel, something always stopped him.
“Coulda fooled me,” Husk said bitterly.
“Look, you ain’t makin’ it easy right now,” Angel said, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if talking to Husk had given him a headache. “I just came to see if you’re okay—”
“I’m fuckin’—ngh!” Husk rounded on Angel, but the motion was too quick, too sudden, and he felt it as pain burst from the center of his back. It traveled almost all the way down his legs, making him recoil and setting him off balance.
Angel was beside him in a second, a hand on his back and two others hovering in front of Husk. Husk took one of them without thinking—falling to his knees would cause him more problems than using Angel for balance. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and when he did, he shrugged Angel off with a stiff, “Thanks.”
Angel rested a gentle hand on Husk’s shoulder, devoid of pressure but enough to make Husk stop before he entered his room. When Husk looked up at him, Angel’s brows were drawn together, searching Husk for an answer. “You hurtin’, big guy?”
Husk ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, kinda. Just need to sleep it off.”
Angel raised a brow and let his hand fall. “No offense, but you’re movin’ like you just got fucked sideways and forgot the lube. You ain’t gotta be embarrassed, I got some—”
“It’s my back, jackass,” Husk gritted out before Angel could finish his sentence. “And my fuckin’ knees.”
“Spent too much time on ‘em?” Angel said, flashing a grin.
“I ain’t doin’ this right now,” Husk grumbled, turning and shuffling back toward his room.
“Hey, c’mon.” Angel closed the distance between the two of them, skirting Husk until he stood between Husk and the door, hands held up to stop him. “Why don’tcha come back to my room?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Husk snapped. “I ain’t in the mood for your shit, so get outta my way.”
Angel shook his head and waved him off. “I ain’t askin’ ya to sleep with me, whiskers. But I got a firm mattress and a buncha pillows that always make me feel better after a long shoot—’specially the ones where I gotta be extra flexible.” Angel ran his lower sets of hands down his body and posed with them on his hips.
Husk opened his mouth to protest, but Angel sobered.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said slowly, as if he were considering each word. He averted his eyes, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he spoke. “I shouldn’t a’ yelled at ya earlier. I didn’t know you weren’t feelin’ good. So, lemme make it up to ya.”
Angel held out a hand for Husk to take. Husk considered standing firm, refusing Angel and telling him to go rejoin the activity downstairs. But when he met Angel’s eyes, he looked so sincere—eyes big and round, brows upturned with a concern that Husk almost resented—that it gave Husk pause. Even now, he’d gotten so used to Angel’s sex jokes and the front he put up that when it came down, Husk wasn’t prepared.
Still, he remembered how the last several hours alone at the bar had left him with nothing to think about but the ache in his knees and wondering how to reach for the next bottle without fucking up his back even worse. Company, even if it was Angel complaining about his boss and his work again, might give him something else to focus on.
“Alright,” he relented, and Angel’s face lit up. Husk took his hand, and Angel fit himself against Husk’s side. He wrapped one arm behind Husk, his warm hand supporting Husk just below his wings. Husk let himself lean into Angel just enough that it took some of the pressure off his back as they made their way down the hall toward Angel’s room.
Angel opened the door to a room bathed in a soft purple glow from the web on the wall beside the bed. Photos and posters of Angel’s performances decorated the walls, though Husk could hardly make out the details in the dim lighting. Angel meant it when he said there were plenty of pillows, all piled at the head of the bed, and Fat Nuggets lay on a circular platform attached to the bed frame. He perked up as Husk and Angel approached, stepping up onto the plush comforter as Angel helped Husk lower himself onto the mattress. True to Angel’s word, it was comfortably firm, and Husk gradually maneuvered to lie on his side, shifting until he’d curled in on himself just a little. He sighed and closed his eyes, relief washing over him at being able to finally let his body rest.
“Mind if I stick around?” Angel asked as he closed the door behind them.
“‘S your room,” Husk reminded him, opening one eye to peer at Angel over his arm.
Angel shrugged. “Sure, but I already said I ain’t here to bug ya. You want me gone, just say so, and I’ll be outta here like a one night stand before dawn.”
Husk huffed a laugh. “Nah, stay. Better than being alone with this shit.”
Angel climbed onto the bed behind Husk, his hip brushing one wing. Husk stretched his wings so that they fell over Angel’s lap, and as they both settled in, he felt the bed sink where Fat Nuggets curled up by his tail, hooves and head resting atop it.
“What would feel good?” Angel asked.
“I swear to fuck, Angel—”
“I meant, what hurts, asshole.”
“Everything,” Husk murmured into the crook of his arm. Even his wings had kicked up with a dull ache after that flight up the stairs. He swore he could feel each feather and follicle irritating his nerves.
“Okay if I touch ya?” Angel asked.
“You better mean my back,” Husk said, shifting his position again when lying still made his legs restless.
“Y’know, I been told my dick-suckin’ is a healin’ experience,” Angel said, and Husk heard the grin in his voice. “We could give it a try.”
Husk started to push himself up, but Angel rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m kiddin’,” Angel said. “I wouldn’t try nothin’ like that. Not when you’re…I mean, not unless you wanted it. So?”
Husk relaxed and nodded, and soon, gentle fingers ran through the fur between his shoulder blades. He hummed contentedly as Angel moved over the knots and tight spots that sent a stabbing pain through his muscles each time he moved wrong. As some of the tension bled away, Husk shivered in bursts, and Angel paused, hand resting between Husk’s shoulder blades.
“You cold?”
“No.”
“You’re shakin’.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Angel resumed, moving deft fingers over Husk’s back. He was good with his hands, Husk would give him that. But it wasn’t enough to keep Husk from having to find a new position every few minutes, until finally, Angel invited him closer. In the end, Husk tucked himself so close against Angel that he was practically in his lap. Angel massaged between Husk’s ears, down his neck and his spine, under his folded wings. Husk was starting to doze off when Angel spoke again.
“How come you didn’t just say you were hurtin’?”
Husk sighed and rested his head on folded arms. “It’s fine. Nobody needed to know.”
“Husk, you could barely walk back to your room,” Angel reminded him. “And I never even saw you fly before you went up those stairs.”
Husk scratched at a loose thread in the comforter. “It’s just easier when this happens.”
“Wait, does it happen a lot?” Angel asked, angling to look Husk in the eye. Angel’s eyes glowed in the light from the neon web on the wall, shimmering with concern that Husk didn’t want to see.
“Not like this,” Husk said, and he left out how and why it had recently gotten worse. Since Alastor had left him cowering in that hallway, dragged down by the glowing chain around his neck, his knees ached almost constantly and his back protested when he slept wrong. It wasn’t that the pain hadn’t existed before that, but up to now, he could put up a front, pretend it wasn’t there when he was serving drinks, and the booze took the edge off.
Angel’s face said he knew there was something Husk wasn’t saying, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows, tucking a couple behind Husk. Fat Nuggets snored where he lay curled in front of Husk, his presence warm and perfectly fitted against him. It had been a long time since Husk had laid like this with anyone—he couldn’t remember doing it since he’d found himself in Hell.
As Angel started trailing his fingertips along Husk’s back, occasionally drifting up to knead between his ears, Husk melted into Angel’s lap. A low purr rumbled in his chest, and Angel paused.
“Don’t,” Husk warned.
“What? It’s nice,” Angel said, resuming what had turned into petting Husk like a common house cat.
“Fuck you,” Husk sighed, no bite to the words.
Angel laughed. “Later, sure.”
Husk let the joke go. Later felt so far away when he was in the midst of pain. The only thing in reach was the one certainty he had every day—Angel taking his spot on the stool at the bar and Husk pouring him a drink.