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“Shush, Al. You’ll wake her,” a familiar voice hissed above the din. Vaggie stirred under the covers, her silver hair shining almost snow white under the Hell sun. Footsteps crept closer to the bed and her eyes snapped open: Charlie. She knew her steps well, could even hear them down the hall if she craned her ears enough. It was a bad habit of hers she knew.
Al? The nickname for Alastor. Was he here? She wouldn’t bring him to their bedroom would she?
Vaggie felt for the dagger under her pillow but hesitated. Slowly, she breathed out and then in. It was just Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Vaggie wasn’t exactly so keen on her girlfriend attempting (and failing) to sneak up on her but it was surely for benign reasons. Without even realizing it, her corded muscles had tensed in her shoulders. She released the tension with another slow breath, keeping her forehead pressed to the covers.
“Vaggie?” It was Charlie’s voice by her side. A small smile dawned on Vaggie’s lips, a rare one reserved for her love. A wonderful smell hit her nose.
Curious, she raised her arms and flipped herself over, gazing at the beaming face of Charlie. “Mm?” Vaggie murmured sleepily.
Her grin was almost blinding, her lovely canine teeth catching in the soft morning light. On a plate, something lovely simmered. Vaggie blinked a few times, shocked at what was before her. “Pupusas?” Pupusas, that were albeit, a bit strangely shaped but pupusas nonetheless. The word was alien on her tongue yet somewhere within her she knew it. Like an old memory floating up to the surface of a lake.
Charlie’s grin somehow widened. Carefully she set the tray down on Vaggie’s bedside where the lovely pupusas laid. Golden brown flatbread filled to the brim with cheese, beans and meat. Perhaps it was pork or beef? She hadn’t eaten something like that in so long. Her meals usually consisted of quick whip ups of Alastor or Angel’s cooking.
Wait.
Vaggie pointed down at the cuisine, raising a brow with suspicion. “Where did you get this?”
Charlie’s fingers tapped together, seemingly proud of herself. “Well…I cooked it.”
“Cooked it?” Vaggie’s eyes blew wide. In less than a second, she threw the sheets off herself and hopped out of bed. In a wild franticness, she reached for her spear lying reliably by the fireplace. Dear God. Charlie cooking? “Charlie, is the hotel burning down? Right now?”
Charlie’s eyes widened as well, holding up her hands defensively. “Hold on, Vaggie–”
“Don’t you worry, dear…” A familiar radio tinged voice said. Vaggie scowled at the sound of his voice, pivoting on her heel towards the sound. At the door, the Radio Demon was leaning against the doorframe. A nosy prick. Peering in on their private time. Alastor flicked up his fingers, studying his nails, “I supervised her during the cooking process. Even taught her how to cook especially for this!”
Vaggie blinked for a few seconds. Stunned. Slowly, she revolved, turning to look at Charlie. Charlie said with a nervous tinge, “Well…I didn’t want a repeat of last time.” Vaggie let out a breath of relief, surprisingly. A bit of guilt ate away at her heart. Why did she always assume the worst?
In a fluid motion, she tossed her spear to the side and ran into Charlie’s arms. Breathing into her golden hair, Vaggie’s eyes fluttered close. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. The panic clawing at her chest was an old friend caked with blood and betrayal. Slowly, in Charlie’s warm embrace her body cooled, her heart falling into synic with Charlie’s…calm and collected. “Hon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fly into a…” Her words trailed off—at a loss for how to put it.
“Panic,” Charlie said quietly, the words shivering off Vaggie’s ear. Vaggie let out a ragged breath. Then Vaggie felt it, Charlie’s long nails carding through her silver hair, a soothing touch. Vaggie leaned into it, taking in Charlie’s comforting scent: a hint of apple, brimstone and roses. It was a strange combination but one that calmed the gooseflesh on her arms. The only sound in her ears was Charlie’s heartbeat, strong and steady, drowning out the echoes of old nightmares.
Ever since that day Vaggie's true self had been revealed—the fact that she was an angel—things had changed between Charlie and her. Not in a bad way. If she could say, in a good way, a different way. The behaviors that Vaggie had never understood, the protectiveness of Charlie, the tendency to panic over any sense of danger…real or not real, became more visible. Despite it all, despite that rattling revelation they were loyal, they trusted each other.
And even then they weren’t perfect. But who was down here? Vaggie certainly hadn’t ended up in Charlie’s arms by being perfect. If anything, it was because Charlie had gone out in the bloody aftermath despite her father’s wishes to aid sinners. And…Vaggie had been cut up, brutally by a person she had trusted, loved the most. It ached, sometimes in the middle of the night but then she remembered who slept by her side…always.
Charlie called it PTSD. Vaggie still didn’t know what to call it. But all she knew was that Charlie was safe and so was she, in each other's arms.
“The pupusas are getting cold,” Charlie said lightly, with a bit of a tease. Vaggie drew away, taking in each beautiful feature of Charlie. The slight curve of her lips, her button noses, and the bright crimson eyes. God, how lucky was she. Of all the people in the world, Vaggie had the princess of Hell.
Home.
It was what the pupusas tasted like. Something she knew a long time ago. Rumors spread that many angels were revitalized humans on Earth. Vaggie didn’t believe it but now, sitting here criss crossed on the bed alongside Charlie…a part of her did. But by no means did she miss it or want it if it had existed. She was perfectly happy in the present.
Vaggie sneaked a glance at Charlie happily munching into a pupusa and smiled quietly.