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It was almost midnight. The maze of alleys and back streets on this side of the city was not a nice spot for a leisurely stroll, people frequently got mugged or murdered here but Alastor wasn’t afraid of any lowlifes. He was, however, still rattled after the previous night’s hit, still processing its deadly consequences. And he was hurt in more ways than one but walking these seedy alleyways with a fixed purpose in mind made him feel like he could cope. He would grieve later, for now sitting still was worse than the pain radiating from his fractured rib.
Alastor stopped to orient himself and catch his breath, pain made him wince. Pain and heartbreak. A voice in his head, one that he knew too well—one he would never hear aloud again—told him he shouldn’t have risked going out, people might still be looking for him, but there was something he had to do before he skipped town.
Just a few more blocks, Anthony, he told the voice and hurried along. Five minutes later he arrived at the designated rendezvous.
“Did you bring what I asked for?” Alastor said to the familiar figure standing under a busted streetlamp.
“Good evening to you too,” the shadow replied gruffly.
“Spare me the niceties, Husker. Did you bring it or not?”
The other man stepped closer and tossed a brown paper bag at Alastor. Alastor caught it and turned around to leave but Husk put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about A—”
Alastor shook Husk’s hand off. He had no right to say he was sorry, he had no right to say his name. Where was Husk, what was he doing when Alastor had asked him to help? He started walking away but the sharp pain on his side made him stagger.
“You’re hurt,” Husk said.
“I’ll live,” Alastor muttered.
“So what are you going to do? Find the gang who attacked you and tattoo their faces?”
“That’s an idea. But no, most of the men who attacked us last night are dead, the rest of them I can’t touch. For now. This here.” Alastor faced Husk and shook the bag. “Is for me.”
Husk mouthed wordlessly, he was speechless. Good. Alastor smiled despite himself, despite his pain. If Anthony was there Alastor would have elbowed him and they would have laughed at Husk’s dumbstruck expression. But Anthony wasn’t there. Hence—
“A tattoo? You’re getting a tattoo?” Husk seemed to have found his words.
“No, I was intending to use the tattoo machine to sign contracts.” Alastor sighed. “Yes, Husk. I want… I am getting a tattoo, what about it?”
“Who will do it, do you know someone?” Husk asked.
“I can do it myself, I don’t need anyone.” He didn’t have anyone. He might have said as much, Husk seemed to guess it.
The pity on Husk’s face enraged Alastor. His right hand instinctively reached for his gun; he wouldn’t kill Husk but he wanted to scare him, to remind him who he was talking to, that he shouldn’t feel sorry for him. In that moment, Alastor saw himself as Husk did: a scared kid who had just lost everything, everyone. Alastor couldn’t stand that sorrow. Because it mirrored his own.
“I should get going,” Alastor said, turning around again.
“Let me patch you up. You can leave tomorrow.” Husk must have seen him sneering, ready to refuse his help, because he added, “I can help you with that too.” He pointed at the bag.
“And where, might I ask, did you learn to tattoo?”
“None of your business. Come along.”
Alastor’s anger was fading, he was drained, exhausted, injured, mourning; he nodded. It was so comfortable to let someone tell him what to do. He muttered protests all the way there but he followed Husk home. Husk cleaned his wounds and stitched him up as best as he could.
“Are you sure about the tattoo?”
Alastor didn’t reply. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to Husk. It was an A with a halo on top and wings on the sides.
“What is this?”
“It’s how he signed his name. Just. Do it. I don’t want to talk, I don’t need comforting words, I just want this done and over with.” So he’ll live on my skin.
“Where?”
Alastor pointed to the left side of his chest, over his heart. If Husk asked he would tell him it was so that no one would know he had it, but Husk said nothing else as he put ink in a bottle cap.
“This might hurt.”
Alastor nodded. It already hurt like hell.
***Three years later***
The smoke made it hard to see. Alastor squinted until he located Husk sitting at the bar and made his way to him.
“Did I not tell you not to contact me again?” Alastor hissed through his smile as he perched himself on the stool beside Husk. “I shouldn’t even be in this city and you have the splendid idea to ask me to meet you at some.” Alastor waved around. “Seedy club, for lack of a better word.”
“Good evening to you, too. Are you done?” Husk rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table.
“I am done, as a matter of fact! What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone.”
Husk shook his head. “It’s something you have to see.” He pointed to the stage where a spotlight had just come on. The chintzy curtains parted and a tall slender figure walked onstage and bowed.
Alastor’s right hand went to his chest, as it had done these past few years when he was stressed, as if he could feel the ink through his shirt and it soothed him. He looked from the stage to Husk and back again. It couldn’t be. And yet there he was, there was no mistaking him.
“I found your Angel. You’re welcome.”