Work Text:
Husk is woken up in the middle of the night by someone rummaging through the shelves behind the bar.
He gets up with a grumble, getting his pants back on before going out to see what’s going on.
“Must be a pretty shitty night to just be helping yourself…”
It isn’t who he expected. And both of them know it, it seems.
Alastor’s voice sounds with that usual radio static, though it seems more distorted than normal.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not Anthony, Husker. You needn’t check up on me.”
He has a rocks glass in one hand, a bottle of Rye in the other. Something about him makes Husk willing to bet that grabbing the glass was more of a formality or a force of habit.
Now that he’s a bit more awake, he takes a better look at his boss. He’s ditched his coat, his tie is undone and so are the top few buttons of his shirt.
“You look like Hell.”
Normally he wouldn’t voice the thought, but it just slips out.
The Radio Demon gives a faint scoff in response, moving to the other side of the bar to claim a stool.
“If you’re expecting some rendition of the objections Anthony has given you to that statement in the past, you’ll be sorely disappointed once more.”
Husk moves into the light, eyeing the red demon as he pours himself a generous amount of whiskey.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you like this… It was probably 7 years - “
He cuts himself off, remembering what happened the last time he brought up Alastor’s mysterious absence.
Alastor finishes the thought for him.
“Seven years ago. Before I went away.”
He takes a long drink from his glass, savoring the burn down his throat. He lowers the glass with a heavy sigh, radio static crackling around him.
“After the fallout.”
Husk gives a nod. He remembers. It was a nasty situation. Leveled one of the districts. The one everyone calls “Doomsday” now.
Alastor can’t let go of what happened. It’s unclear if it makes it better or worse that Vox clearly can’t let go of it either. Their fight against each other was brutal, in a number of ways.
Alastor was set to be the victor, too. Until Vox got some backup. Turned the tables by stacking the deck. Not before Al took a piece of both Vox and Valentino with him, though.
Husk’s words are cautious, measured. He doesn’t care for a repeat power demonstration from Alastor tonight.
“The hits you both took were heavy… No one can blame ya for still hurting over it…”
Alastor gives a faint hum into his glass, taking another drink. Husk is pretty sure he was drinking before he came down too. He wasn’t searching for the start of a binge, he was looking to keep it going.
Surprisingly, alcohol makes Alastor more agreeable to conversation, and less inclined towards aggression. So Husk tries his luck.
Habits like gambling are hard to break.
“What’s got ya in this sort of mood tonight, though? The Vees have been out of your hair for a while now… Unless something happened that the rest of us missed?”
Alastor is quiet, swallowing the rest of his drink before refilling the glass. He swirls it beneath his fingers and Husk assumes that his question is being completely ignored. He huffs his own sigh, rolling his eyes.
The next words out of Alastor take the bartender by surprise.
“You don’t like that I know his name.”
Husk’s large eyebrows pinch together.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Angel Dust. You don’t like that I know his REAL name.”
His head is tilted to the side, studying Husk. Husk hates when Alastor looks at him like that. And when the fuck did this become about him, anyway?
But he knows there’s no point in trying to lie to the Radio Demon, even when he’s clearly drunk.
“No, I don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you. I know what you do. I know that you think having someone’s name is the first way you get power over them. And the kid’s been through enough.”
Alastor laughs at that, but it’s a decidedly hollow sound, put on only for show.
“Why do you call him “kid”? I know you’re an older soul insofar as you died at an older age. But you do know he’s been in Hell longer than you, right? It rather doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Just call him your lover, your boyfriend, your paramour, whatever it is. Be done with the song and dance of it all.”
Apparently the surprises are just going to keep coming from him tonight. Alastor has never been so upfront when he’s talked about these sorts of things in the past. Frankly, it’s hard for Husk to actually remember any previous instances. It’s just a topic that never seems to hold weight for the deer. Besides, it’s not like they’ve made it official or anything.
They haven’t really talked about WHAT they are, exactly.
“What I call him is none of your business.”
“Then what I call him should be none of YOURS, hmm?”
Husk grits his teeth. He can’t really think of a good argument to that. Alastor waves his glass at the winged cat, rolling his eyes.
“Besides… I mostly said it to gauge your reaction. Thank you for not disappointing me.”
Sometimes Husk really can’t stand this guy. And he can’t understand what has Niff so infatuated with him. Apparently her love of “bad boys” also applies to bad GUYS too. None of this “heart of gold” bullshit for her.
“You know what? Fuck you…”
“I’m good.”
Alastor takes another long drink as Husk looks at him with raised eyebrows. He soon shakes his head, though, He’s ready to be done. Alastor was right: He isn’t Anthony so Husk doesn’t need to take care of him. So let him get shitfaced to his heart’s content. Should make for an interesting morning.
“Enjoy your blackout. I’m going to bed.”
Alastor raises his glass in a mock toast as Husk turns and walks back into his room behind the bar.
He crawls back into bed, grumbling to himself as he settles in. He can still hear Alastor’s incessant radio sounds that always seem to surround him. Usually he doesn’t care, but it’s setting his teeth on edge right now with how irritated he feels. Doesn’t help that he’s a pretty light sleeper at the best of times.
This could be a long night.
00000000000000000000000000000000000
He does manage to drift off eventually, but he wakes again a few hours later. It’s not due to noise, though. Not at first.
It’s due to the sudden ABSENCE of noise. He sits up and looks to the door, wondering if Alastor finally called it a night and went back up to his tower.
Then he picks up on the faint static still playing and an underlying noise that sounds like the drag of a needle when a record has reached its end.
That’s a new one for him.
Part of him wants to say “Fuck him” and roll back over into bed.
But he can’t help but wonder. Alastor is an ass and he hates being bound to him… But Alastor won the bet… He can’t deny that. And he’s done a fair bit of digging. He hasn’t been able to find anything that proves the Radio Demon outright cheated. He’s still not sure he would call it all “fair and square” though.
He growls as he slips from bed once more, pulling on his pants and trudging that same path back out to the bar.
Alastor has laid his head down on the bar, one arm draped on the counter so his hand dangles over the back. He has his empty glass in front of him and two bottles now. One is empty, the other has less than half of its contents remaining. Both bottles were full before Alastor showed up late into the night.
“Fucking Hell, Al…”
Husk moves to take care of the debris, assuming that Alastor has, in all likelihood, passed out.
So he’s startled when Alastor speaks.
His voice has none of its usual static or mic filters in place.
“I lost…”
Husk grabs the still partially filled bottle, moving it from Alastor’s reach.
“Lost what?”
“The fight… Adam…”
Husk nods, moving to clean the glass beside Alastor.
“Well, yeah. I know. But he lost in the end, so-”
“I lost!”
Alastor props himself up off the countertop, everything about his movements betraying how intoxicated he is.
He undoes other buttons, pulling the fabric aside to show the patched up gash across his chest.
“Badly! For the second fucking time, I lost to someone I shouldn’t have!”
Husk doesn’t respond, still staring at the injury Alastor got.
“Al… What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell us about this? You need to get some help. Maybe Charlie or -”
“No! I don’t need help! I don’t WANT help! I just want to be good enough! Ugh…”
The adrenaline subsides and the booze in his veins takes hold once more. He slumps back down against the bartop, letting his head fall back down with a “thud”.
He groans and Husk can’t tell if it’s in response to the “thud”, if it’s a response to how very drunk he is, or if it’s maybe just the best way for Alastor to express how he’s feeling right now. Where he’s at, mentally.
“There’s my answer then, huh? From before? About what brought this mood on…”
Alastor gives a grumble of affirmation.
Husk just looks at him for a moment. He can never get a read on this guy in times like these. Granted, they don’t come along often.
What’s worse is that he can’t stop himself from feeling sort of sorry for the Overlord. Which is crazy. The guy has a hold over his life, over Niffty’s life, who knows how many contracts he has out there.
But he also can’t help but respect the guy too. Sure, he’s an asshole, but that’s no surprise: They’re in Hell, for fuck’s sake.
And, like in life, some people have to scrape their way to the top. There’s no denying that Alastor has done that.
He’s sort of built an empire in his own right. So it’s strange to hear him talk down to himself. Others? Absolutely fair game. But himself?
There has to be more to it than this.
“Good enough for who, Al? For what?”
“No one… A- Any - Everyone! I - I don’t… Fuck, I don’t… Fucking know…”
His hand gropes along the counter, looking for the Rye bottle. When he doesn’t find it, he raises his head.
Husk can see how red his eyes are now that they’re not so wild. Not the eyes themselves, those are always red. But the edges around his eyes. He can tell it’s more than just sleep-deprivation and booze causing that puffiness.
He sighs.
“You’ve had enough, Al. Especially with how banged up you are. You need rest, not more booze.”
Alastor looks at him like part of him wants to argue. But the other part clearly seems to have no energy left to do so.
Husk wonders how much he’ll remember? Probably most, if not all of it, honestly. Even when Al gets totally fucked up, he always seems to remember everything.
He moves around the bar to Alastor.
“Come on, let me give you a hand up.”
Alastor brushes away Husk’s offered claw.
“I’m fine… I can manage.”
He stands on immediately unsteady legs.
Husk anticipates it, helping to keep him upright.
“Yeah, sure looks like it.”
Alastor braces one hand against the bar, the other moving to hold at his head. He’s willing the hotel to stop spinning, but to little avail.
“Gonna be able to make it to your room?”
“I can just use an umbrella…”
“An UMBRA, you mean.”
“That’s what I said.”
Alastor snaps his fingers. Rather than summoning a shadow though, one of his little voodoo imps appears. It quickly fizzles away, though, unstable from the start.
“Fuck…”
Husk shakes his head. There’s no way in Hell he’s helping Alastor all the way up to his tower and definitely no way the Radio Demon would make it on his own.
He’s tempted to just dump Alastor over on one of the couches and leave him there for the others to find in the morning.
But he knows Alastor would be mortified. And he hates that he gives a damn about that, but here they are.
He sighs heavily, starting to steer Alastor back behind the bar.
“You kick me and you’re on the floor. Boss or not, I ain’t putting up with a hoof where it doesn’t belong.”
Alastor seems a bit puzzled, his mind moving in slow motion as he puts together what’s happening.
Husk dumps him down onto the mattress, moving to adjust the blankets and pillows, grumbling all the while.
Alastor fumbles off his shoes, having at least that much decorum left. His hooves clatter lightly on the hardwood floor as he shifts before he slumps onto his side and brings his legs up onto the mattress.
He can already feel the little consciousness he has remaining slipping away from him.
But he also feels the weight of a blanket being laid on top of him and feels the mattress shift as Husk gets in on the other side.
“There’s a trash can on your side of the bed. If you’re gonna puke, aim it there…”
“I won’t…”
“The fuck you won’t! I swear if you - “
“Meant I won’t puke, Husker…”
“Well good. Cuz you won’t get any sympathy from me if you do.”
They fall into a silence. The only sounds are of Husk shifting to try to get comfortable again for the third time tonight.
Alastor’s voice is quiet, no other noise accompanying it like usual.
“Husker?”
“What?”
There’s a brief silence and Husk wonder’s if Al has finally passed out, before -
“Thank you…”
Husk can’t help but turn over his shoulder to look at the red demon. He can’t remember the last time Alastor has said that to him. Maybe he’s never said that to him before.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he simply says:
“Get some sleep, Al…”