Chapter Text
Hard days at work had always been quite difficult to deal with.
Angel Dust slumped against the bar, sliding onto a stool as he rested his head. Husk didn't even have to ask what he'd want before a dainty glass filled with rosy pink liquid slid toward him. He could hardly lift a hand to drink, his arm trembling, fingers barely grasping the glass. He forced himself to take the tiniest sip, wanting nothing more than to pass out from the exhaustion right then and there. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of the day.
"You look like shit." Husk set down a bottle and rested a paw on Angel's forearm.
"Nice observation, Captain-fucking-Obvious," He couldn't help snapping, taking another little sip of his drink. Angel huffed, trying his best to kick off his boots.
"Jesus, Angel, I'm bein' serious. What happened to you?"
"The usual." He didn't want to talk about it, let alone to Husk, who cared more about Angel's wellbeing than he thought he should. But his day—and his co-workers—had been much rougher than normal, but they were only following Val's instructions. He couldn't blame them, even if he could barely stand upright without his knees buckling from the discomfort.
Husk stayed silent, and Angel thanked the Devil for that.
After a long while of Angel quietly sipping his drink, he rested his head back on the bartop. Husk slid him another glass. Without looking, Angel took a sip, expecting the same candyfloss-sweet concoction he always ordered.
He spit out whatever was in its place. "The fuck was that?"
"Water," Husk replied, dry as ever. "Drink up, you'll feel better."
Angel rolled his eyes. Maybe Husk had a point though.
"'M goin' to my room," Angel blurted, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of them. Carefully grabbing the cup of water in two hands, Angel used the bartop to steady himself as he stepped down. On shaky legs he walked to an elevator, punching in floor four and holding on tight to the railing with two hands, drink in two hands.
Angel was barely able to stumble to his bedroom, supporting himself on the wall the whole way down. He found the door decorated with hearts and fumbled to find his key in a pocket of his blazer, unlocking the room and not even caring if the door shut before he fell onto the bed with a sigh.
And finally, after the grueling exhaustion of submitting to cruel overlords, after the bright lights in his eyes and too-loud voices and co-workers that threw him around like he was a toy, after countless lessons on boundaries and respect despite doing nothing wrong in his eyes, Angel could finally cry.
And when he started to cry, he found himself unable to stop. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged himself tight and sobbed until no tears left his eyes and the soft fuzz on his face was soaked with the trails of his sadness.
Work seemed like a worse Hell than being sent to the realm in the first place. Finding Valentino after thirty years of loneliness had been the biggest mistake of Angel's life, and not a single day would he ever forget that. This was his terrible, terrible choice.
No thoughts formed in his guilt-ridden mind but the fact that he'd only done this to himself. He'd chosen to date Val' in the eighties, chose to take that contract and chose to work at that studio.
His fault. All of the bad and the horrid and the gross was all his fault.
Angel whimpered, doing his best to kick off his shoes, frustrated when they didn't hit the floor right away. He closed his eyes to pull off his top, looking around for a sweater. Defeated and still wearing stiletto boots that seem much too hard to walk in through his saddened, cloudy-minded state, the spider demon fell back onto his bed, grasping a pillow with wet eyes.
Maybe, if the world would leave him alone, he could finally relax.
Whether for forever or just a couple of teary-eyed moments, Angel wanted a break.
And he could get that for himself, he knew that as his fuzzy, too-loud thoughts fizzled out into soft cotton.
•
"You okay in there?" a voice called out from behind his bedroom door. Blinking awake from a too-long nap, Angel didn't feel a single urge to move or make a sound. Sometime in his slumber, the cuff of his sleeve had found his mouth. He didn't mind chewing on the soft fabric. Needing something in his mouth was a common desire for Angel, but his…typical way of going about it didn't seem right.
The cotton in his brain never faded, despite having sat in his bed awake for quite some time. His boots had stayed on and he resented the things; he hadn't been able to take them off.
"Angel?" the voice called again. It took Angel too much thinking to realize that it was Husk calling. But Husk didn't require words at that moment. Angel simply couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn't know why, nor did he care. All he cared about was the fluff in his head and the too-sweet mushy-gushy thoughts of needing someone and wishing to be held.
"Answer me. You better not be doing something dumb."
Angel made a strange sound with his mouth, staying curled up beneath his soft pink duvet. Not doing anything dumb, or at least, he didn't think he was. Or maybe his strange mindset was "something dumb", but he didn't know it. He couldn't control it, though. He still had no clue what was happening to him, but maybe Husk could help him figure it out.
"If you're jackin' off, you better tell me now, because I'm coming in." That was just fine with Angel. He didn't have the strength to get out of bed and go open the door, anyway.
Husk stepped inside the room and Angel couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Hi," he greeted simply with a grin. His voice, although normally quite high, seemed even higher and childish, giggly, as if his lungs were filled with helium. He felt lighter, floaty. Maybe a little dissociative, but not in a bad way. No, nothing about this headspace was bad. It was soft and cozy and safe and damn it he may be an adult film star but he wanted nothing more than to be babied.
"Hello, Angel. Why didn't you answer the door? You're not doin' anything under those covers, are you? If you are, please tell me so I can get the fuck outta here."
"Noooo," Angel giggled. "Nuthin' bad."
Husk rolled his eyes at Angel's laughter, sitting on the bed. "What the Hell are you giggling at?" The cat demon pulled Angel's sleeve out of his mouth. "Don't chew on that."
Why couldn't he? He'd woken up doing that. It felt nice. And besides, it wasn't like he'd ruined the sweater, and if even if he had, it was his sweater. He could do what he wanted with it. Angel pouted, glaring at Husk, who still held the sleeve in his paw.
"Why no nom?" he huffed, crossing his upper pair of arms. His middle pair popped out from under his sweater, unable to hide them in his strange floaty state.
"Why are you baby talking?" Angel didn't really have an answer for that one, just that it was happening and it felt right, so why shouldn't he keep doing it?
"'Cause want to."
Husk shook his head, his grumpy resting face apparent, but he could hardly hide his small smile. "God, you sound like a toddler. You're a brat, y'know that, Angel?"
Angel blew a raspberry at Husk, unknowingly proving the cat's
point. He found Husk's words funny and maybe a little true. Yeah, he did sound like a toddler, but he liked it. It was fun baby-talking. Maybe he was a brat, but why shouldn't he be? His room, his rules. And if that meant chewing on things that shouldn't be chewed on and talking back, that was precisely what he was going to do.
"You're acting like a toddler, too. What are you, three?" Husk retorted, looking Angel up and down.
Yeah, that actually…
Three sounded right. Twenty-nine was much too old, even if it had felt right every other one of his days in Hell. It didn't make much sense, really, but what else did in Hell? He could be three years old in Hell if he wanted.
"Uh-huh!" Angel answered proudly. Somewhere in his mind, a little boy named Anthony toddled around the sidewalks of New York City, racing a little girl named Molly and chased by a mother scolding the children in Italian. Somewhere in his mind were the memories of home. Sauce on a little metal spoon as he tried his best to help his mother in the kitchen, a kiss on his cheek and a father sitting at the head of the table with a five-year-old boy with black hair at his hip.
But his old home was too long ago. Newer memories resurfaced, memories of too-tight hugs from Charlie and putting one of the Egg Boyz' hats on Fat Nuggets. Fruity drinks served by Husk with a grin and laughing with Cherri. Cracking jokes at Alastor. Helping Charlie care for Vaggie when she got sick and making her a bowl of soup—his mother's recipe. Making sure Niffty was alright.
That was new home. But in that moment, he wanted someone to care for him, to make sure he was alright.
"No, Angel, no you are not, you are an adult. You're a pornstar. You can't be three years old right now." Husk's voice snapped Angel back to the present, but he didn't want to hear one bit of it. Husk's sarcastic comment had felt right. Three years old felt great in Angel's mind. Yeah, he was three again, but not in that tiny Manhattan family home. He was three in the Hazbin Hotel with his real, chosen, found family.
"Says who?" Angel retorted, pouting.
"Says the fact that you're thirty years old, Angel. This is ridiculous, you need to go to bed. Are you high?"
No, no he wasn't high! He hadn't had anything that day. He didn't want to stunt his progress. Besides, getting high would only make him lose focus at work. And there were much better ways to feel happy. Husk himself had taught him that.
That was one of those ways. The cloudy headspace he'd entered was safe and it was happy.
"Okay, not high. Is this some kinda new kink Val' made you do today?" Husk suggested.
No! That was even worse. Angel gagged, despising the idea. He was three in that little head of his. He was tiny, why couldn't Husk just understand that?! He shook his head rapidly, blowing another raspberry at Husk.
"Then…what the fuck are ya' doin'?"
"No no-no words!"
Husk gave Angel a blank stare. "Cut the act. Are you just doing this to annoy me?"
Oh, no. He never wanted to annoy Husk. He just needed Husk to listen to him and understand that he really did feel quite young for a reason he didn't know. But he'd gone and messed it all up, making Husk unhappy. He just wanted to feel small. Was that so hard to achieve?
"No…" Angel responded quietly. Husk was mad at him, wasn't he? Angel tried his best to snap out of it, but his emotions stuck to the fluffiness and he couldn't help his frustration, all of his negativity amplified by his too-small state.
Husk seemed to grow frustrated, and that didn't help Angel one bit. The cat demon seemed to be attempting to figure out what was wrong with Angel whilst the other was desperately attempting to not let his too-large emotions out. "Then why—are you crying, Angel?" He didn't mean to cry. He didn't mean for Husk to see him cry. God, he hated crying, he hated it so much. It made him look weak. He didn't want to look weak in front of anyone, but especially Husk. The man had seen the worst of him already, but this headspace was new and fragile and he needed to deal with it on his own.
"Hey, no, I'm not mad. I'm just trying to understand what's happening." A tentative paw rested on his shoulder. Angel wiped his teary eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. He tried to accept Husk's comfort, he really did, but the sensation of everything around him was too much. Angel closed his eyes, slowly, finally taking Husk's paw in his delicate fingers.
"Don' know," Angel managed to mumble. He could talk right, talk like an adult, talk big, but he didn't want to. Talking big felt wrong, it felt dirty. It made him feel like the same person he was at the studio just hours before, and that wasn't him.
"Angel," Husk spoke gently, not moving any closer. Angel thought for a moment that he might've been wary or weirded out because of his behavior, but through the white haze, he realized Husk was only respecting his boundaries.
"Yeah?" He replied, his voice high.
"When you said you were three, what did you mean by that?" He spoke slowly so that Angel could understand him clearly. Angel thanked him for that silently.
"Mean 'm fwee! 'M baby!" Angel pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, giggling at his own sweater paws. He swatted at Husk's hand with the fabric. The cat didn't seem to mind, only eyeing the dampened edge of the cuff where Angel had been chewing.
"Okay, you're 'baby', then." Husk nodded at him. Angel beamed, his gold tooth shining where his pink LEDs reflected off of it. Husk slid his hand up to Angel's cheek, gently rubbing his thumb against the other man's soft skin. "Hey, baby, can you do something for me?"
Angel looked up. Of course! He'd do absolutely anything for Husk, anything to make him happy. He leaned into Husk's touch on his cheek, nodding rapidly. Angel smiled when he watched Husk do the same. "Very good. Can you tell me your name?"
Angel opened his mouth to speak, but closed it soon after. Angel wasn't his name. It didn't seem right, that name. It was his stage name. Not his real one.
"Tony," he whispered. "'M Tony. Tony Genovese."
Husk took a moment to process. One night, long ago, when he'd gotten Angel thoroughly drunk enough to forget about his horrible day at work, they'd had a little conversation.
["You know, my name isn't really Angel," the man before him said. He talked with his hands a lot, the sickly-sweet pink liquid in his martini glass sloshing, several drops landing on the dark wood of the bartop.
"I didn't think it was, but go on," Husk replied, downing his own whiskey straight from the bottle.
"It's Anthony. Anthony Genovese," he confessed.
Husk blinked a couple of times. He'd heard rumors of Angel's past, the most outlandish being his mafia heritage. He'd disregarded it completely, blaming it on bigotry due to Angel's Italian heritage. That last name, however, made that once-impossible theory a reality.
"You're lookin' at me funny," Angel pointed out, and Husk blinked. He didn't realize he was looking at Angel in any particular way.
"I'm not looking at you like anything, kid."
"It's the name, ain't it? That's why I only really go by Angel now. It's a nice name."]
Husk supposed that mindset had changed with Anthony's headspace. Anthony looked up at him, rosy eyes glistening. He'd found a necklace with a charm—a little silver key—and wedged the tip of it into his mouth. He flapped his sweater paws, beaming as Husk continued to rub one large thumb against his cheek.
"Thank you, Tony. Can you tell me how you feel?"
Anthony looked away. A small smile spread across his face as he began to rock. Back and forth, back and forth…
He felt fuzzy. He felt as if his too-loud mind had been soaked up with cotton balls and blankets and stuffed animals and everything nice.
He felt small, he decided.
"Feel little."